The Blueverse
by cotillion
Summary: It all started with Flight 627... A closer look at the events surrounding the Fringe team in the blueverse timeline. Finished with 1x05. Up next is The Cure...
1. Prologue - 1x01 Pilot

**This story will obviously be familiar to you if you're on this website reading Fringe fanfiction. It starts at the beginning and follows canon, although not completely. While it's true that much of the dialogue was taken from the episodes, there are plenty of dialogue and scenes which were not. The first few chapters are mostly by the book, with the additional scenes coming later in the pilot and in the following episodes, and sometimes in between them.**

**My main goal is to shed a little more light on the team's daily lives, while at the same time try to remain (mostly) true to their characters, and to each episode.**

**The POV's are mostly Olivia and Peter, but Astrid and Walter will each have some at some point also. **

**Please leave a review if you have any comments. I love reading them.**

**I own none of the characters or story or setting.**

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**Prologue:**

**The turbulence** shook the plane's cabin and lightning flashed outside through the small window next to him. He could hear the passengers around him as they began to grow restless and uneasy with the vibrations that ran throughout the plane. He didn't mind the turbulence though, never had. He was a man of science, and he knew that the odds of a plane crashing due to turbulence in this day and age, were extremely low. He did hate overnight flights though, they had taken off from Hamburg hours ago, and still had many more to go until they landed in Boston.

On the small display, embedded into the seat in front of him, a "Fasten Your Seatbelt" animation began to play, and the flight attendant's voice rang out over the intercom in German, instructing them to make sure that their belts were securely fastened. He noticed that the man sitting next to him was beginning to appear rather pale, and that sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead. He was leaning forward, hunched over in his seat, as if he had an upset stomach. He had dark hair and a slender build, and he saw a slight resemblance to a friend of his back home in India. The man was now leaning back in his seat, back rigid, eyes darting around the cabin nervously.

"Hey, my friend," he said to the man. "It's just an electrical storm. There is nothing to worry about." he finished with a smile.

"I understand." the man gasped.

"I have some gum. Would you like a piece?" He offered the package to him.

"No, thank you." he said, and reached for the briefcase sitting at his feet. He fumbled with catches for a moment before opening it and removing a small medical kit. He frantically opened the kit and pulled out a small, thin cylinder with a pointed cap at one end. He removed the cap to reveal a short needle.

"Insulin?" he asked the man.

The man gave him a nod and pulled up his shirt. He pinched the skin of his side between his thumb and forefinger and plunged the needle in. Afterwards, he put the needle back in the kit, returned it to the briefcase, and sat back in relief. The man closed his eyes and began to take deep breaths.

Suddenly, he leaned forward again in pain, and gasped. The back of his shirt was drenched in sweat. He lunged out of his seat and began to make his way down the aisle, towards the rear of the plane. The plane hit another patch of turbulence and the lights in the cabin began to flicker on and off. The flight attendant, having caught sight of a passenger, unrestrained, and moving around the shaking cabin, began to make her way after him, shouting at him in German.

"Sir, you must sit down!"

The plane went through another stretch of turbulence and the flight attendant staggered into an elderly couple, looking anxiously towards the man fleeing the indignant flight attendant. The lights continued to flicker overhead, creating patches of light and darkness in the aisle.

"Sir, you must return to your seat!"

The man from India could hear the plane's engines begin to whine, as the pilot increased the throttle to maintain altitude in the face of the storm outside. As he watched his former seat mate lurch down the aisle, the man suddenly stopped, and held his hand up to his face, as if what he saw shocked him. When the flight attendant reached him, she grabbed his arm to direct him back the way he came.

"SIR, you..." She broke off as the man spun around with a wordless scream.

When she saw his face, she let out a terror filled shriek, and the passengers near the man began to scream and shout also. The man's face had begun to change, his skin had large red irregular spots on it, and as he watched the spots begin to grow, he realized that they weren't spots at all. It was as if the man's skin was being dissolved by acid, revealing the muscle and sinew below. As his face fell away, the skin of his cheeks tearing, he suddenly vomited a greenish froth into the screaming flight attendant's face. She shrieked even louder, and began to choke, covering her face with her hands. She pitched into the couple sitting next to her, their eyes huge in alarm. The man from India noted with a detached thought, that the vomit had seemed to go right into her mouth. It was a perfect shot. In another time and place he might've been very amused by this, if he hadn't suddenly started to feel a burning sensation running up and down the length of his arm to his finger tips. He looked at his hand, his palm had a large red spot right in the center that noticeably grew larger as he watched it, and that was when he joined the screaming he'd been hearing all around him.

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"Sir, we have a situation back here. People are getting..." The flight attendant's frantic voice told the captain through the cockpit phone before it broke off, and he heard what sounded like shouting, maybe screaming.

"Can you repeat that? People are what? Hello?" He hung up the phone, and turned to his co-pilot, "Go see what the hell is going on back there."

The co-pilot nodded, and turned to the cockpit door behind him. As he opened it, they were greeted with a chorus of screaming and wailing, the likes of which the captain had never heard in his life. He reached for the auto-pilot toggle, and switched it on, and considered sending a transmission to Boston, before he stood up to follow his co-pilot.

The co-pilot was standing in the doorway, staring out into a scene of chaos. The passengers were all screaming, and clawing at the skin on their faces frantically, which were peeling off into their hands like wet, sticky clay. There was a faint chemical odor that was beginning to burn at his eyes. He stood there, mesmerized as he watched the flesh begin to sag off the bones of his hand. He heard the captain behind him, wanting to know what was going on, and he turned to him.

The captain watched in terror as his co-pilot slowly turned to face him. He brought his hand up to his face, and when he pulled it away, the flesh from his cheek came with it, as if it was stuck to his hand, exposing the inside of his mouth. The co-pilot let out a moan that sounded like death, as his jaw began to sag from his ruined face and fall away, and the pilot fell back in his seat in a horrified daze, his mind snapped.

The auto-pilot light continued its flashing, as the silent plane made its way to its final destination..

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	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

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**Turnpike Motel, Boston – 2008**

**The motel** was one of the garden variety types that one would see everywhere. Big, neon lit sign, proudly proclaiming its status. It was a single level strip of rooms, mostly empty at this time of year, other than the occasional traveler looking for cheap accommodations, or other customers needing privacy for more nefarious reasons. The parking lot was empty, other than two similar styled SUV's parked at either end of the row. In one room, the squeaking of bed springs and the knocking of the headboard could be heard, along with a woman's occasional laugh.

She fell back in the bed exhausted, and ran her hand through her hair. "Oh my God, John! This bed is so loud." she said in embarrassment.

"You think?" John smiled.

"We can't keep doing this, all this sneaking around." she said softly with her head in her hand. "Someone's going to find out." She didn't like secrets, keeping things from people, or when things were kept from her. It left a bad taste in her mouth. _I guess it comes with the job, _she thought.

"The Department's not a massive fan of inter-office romance." he said with a grimace. "That policy seminar was endless wasn't it? I kept finding myself staring at you, had to move my chair around or I wouldn't hadn't been able to stop." he said with a toothy smile.

"Well, I… I think Charlie knows." she said with an impish grin.

"Nah, he doesn't know."

"I think he does." she said as she rolled on her side away from him. He grabbed her waist and pulled himself close behind her.

"If he knew, one of us would be transferred, and the idea that some suit gets to make a call as to whether or not I live in the same city as you is unacceptable to me." he said as he ran his fingers lightly up her side.

"Hey, I wear a suit, and so do you I might add." she said indignantly.

"Anyways that's all just preamble to the kicker, which is this, that I love you." He said seriously.

She looked at him then, in surprise. _Not now, _she thought as she nibbled on her fingernail_. I don't know if I'm ready for this. _She went through several responses in her head, none of which seemed suitable, panicked, and just decided to kiss him instead. She leaned in gently brushed her lips over his, and as she felt him start to respond, she heard the familiar vibration of her cell phone on the nightstand next to the bed.

She pulled away from John slowly and said, "I gotta get that. Sorry." She picked the phone up and glanced at the number, recognizing her department head's number. She wondered what he could possibly be wanting at this time of night.

"Olivia Dunham." she answered, standing up and walking towards the bathroom where she had left her things.

"There's been an incident at Logan International, Flight from Hamburg, Germany. Charlie Francis will meet you there. I need your best work on this one, Dunham. There may be other agencies in the mix, but don't let them impede you. You got all that?" the voice asked her bluntly.

"Yes, sir, Of course, sir. I.. I'm on way now." Olivia ended the call, got up and began to gather her clothes. She looked over at John, "There's been an incident at Logan. International flight from Germany. Charlie's already on his way there now." she said, pulling her clothes back on. She leaned over John and gave him another kiss, staring into his eyes for moment, before pulling away and grabbing her badge and keys off the nightstand. She thought about those three words he'd just spoken before they were interrupted. She wasn't ready to deal with that right now, she decided. "See ya." she said with a smile, as she turned and walked out the door.

John stared wistfully at the door for a moment until his own cell phone began to ring. He picked it up and answered.

"Agent Scott." he said.

* * *

**Logan International Airport**

**Olivia** pulled her SUV up the security checkpoint at Logan. She flashed her badge at the gate keeper, "Olivia Dunham, FBI." she said.

The guard waved her through and she drove towards the mass of flashing lights and emergency vehicles gathered around the plane in a semi circle. There was a group of what looked like tents near the front of the plane. Helicopters circled overhead, with search lights highlighting the fuselage as they passed over. She pulled up to a row of similar government issued vehicles, parked at the end of the row, and got out. It was cold, the wind was whipping a light dusting of snow around in little vortexes that swirled along the pavement. She was grateful for her trusty black beanie that she religiously wore in the frigid Boston winter. Her breath came out in little puffs, as she looked around, hoping to see someone familiar before she made her way closer. After a moment, she spotted Charlie, talking to a couple of local PD off to the side. They looked entirely out of their element. Charlie spotted her coming towards him, and broke off his conversation.

"What's up Charlie?" she said as she reached him.

"We've got a flight out of Hamburg, 147 passengers. Tower has lost contact three hours in. They thought it might have been electrical interference. They enter in our airspace radio silent. Navy then scrambles two F-18 for escort. They reported stains on the windows, no signs of life aboard the jet. The White House approved the CDC's request for the jet not to be opened until they arrive." he said in his gruff voice.

"No signs of life? Who was flying the plane and how did it land?"

"Logan is the one of the first airports with PEARL auto-pilot system. The plane landed itself right on time, unlike every other flight I've ever taken." Charlie replied.

Olivia saw another SUV pull up, and she recognized it as John's. She saw that he was on the phone as he hopped out, "Well let me assure you, we'd be happy to treat you as family too." he said, and ended the phone call. "Good old NTSB, they all like to think they're cops." he said with a smirk.

"Agent Scott." Charlie said in greeting.

"Agent Francis," John replied shaking his hand. He looks at Olivia, "Agent Dunham."

Olivia nodded her head in reply, and gave him a searching look, to which he didn't respond, but merely turned back to Charlie, who continued briefing them on the situation.

"Well, whatever the hell McNeary shot through that window, it made him throw up in front of his whole unit." Charlie finished with a grimace.

The three of them began to walk closer to where the other agents were gathering near the plane. Olivia noted that the crowd of trench coated agents surrounding the plane, were mostly white males, middle aged. She should be used to it by now, she supposed. Although, when she was at Quantico, she had met several other female trainees, none had been promoted to full field agents yet, as she had. She was undeniably bad at keeping in touch with acquaintances, so maybe some could have by now, for all she knew. She tended to keep people at arms' length, never letting them get too close, except for Rachel, and Charlie of course. She had met him right out of training. Her first assignment in fact. She wondered why what John had said back at the motel had spooked her so, it wasn't like they had just started seeing each other. They'd been together for months now, admittedly in secret, but otherwise, wasn't this how it was supposed to work? The loud thumping of a landing helicopter's rotors drew her from her pondering.

_Men,_ she thought, shaking her head to clear her mind. A problem for another time.

The helicopter was a black, with a D.H.S. insignia stamped on the side. The instant the rails touched ground, the back door swung open and man in a brown trench coat jumped out. He was a tall, slender, African-American with a very bald head. His face had sharp, angular features, and he held himself with an air of authority. She had heard people having eyes like a dead fish, and he certainly qualified. His badge was prominently on display hanging from a chain around his neck. He stalked over to the crowd of agents and ran his cold gaze over them briefly, before he addressed them. Olivia had felt his eyes halt on her for a moment longer than the others, and she wondered if he recognized her somehow, or maybe he was just surprised to see a female here at all. She didn't care, either way she had a job to do, and she would do it well.

"Although this is a multi-agency, joint task force, you are all reporting to the Department of Homeland Security. I'm Special-Agent-in-Charge Broyles. DC has sent me here to make sure we get results, and fast. Standard Level 4 HAZMAT suits are required to go in. Members from each agency on the starting line as follows," he glanced down at a slip of paper in his hand, "CIA, Faranough. FBI, Charlie Francis and John Scott. Everyone else stand by for further instructions once we assess the situation. Okay people, let's move." he finished with a stern face. He turned and started quickly walking towards the tents the CDC had set up near the nose of the plane.

Olivia was confused and irritated at her exclusion from the initial scene assessment. She needed to be in there first, to see things for herself, before the scene was disturbed by the mass of agents, forensics experts, and other personnel that would undoubtedly descend on the plane. She quickly caught up to "Special-Agent-In-Charge" Broyles before he could enter one of the tents.

"Sir? Olivia Dunham, FBI's inter-agency liaison." She held her hand out in greeting.

He ignored her hand, "A liaison on an inter-agency task force, ya gotta love that," he grunted. "Kinda like powdered sugar on a glazed donut, don't ya think?"

_What the hell is this guys problem?_ Olivia thought to herself. "Excuse me, Sir, but if I'm gonna do my job effectively, I need my information first hand, that's not redundancy, it's called accountability, and-"

"I know exactly who you are, agent." Broyles interrupted and stepped closer to her. "You want in, _Liaison_? Suit up." He turned and walked inside the CDC tent, leaving Olivia in his wake.

Looking around, she saw a CDC truck with a crowd of agents around it off to one side of the plane. Several people had white HAZMAT suit bottoms on, holding the helmets in their hands. One of them was Charlie. She hurried over to him, "Where'd you get the suit?" she said.

Charlie looked up and grinned at her cheekily, "I don't remember hearing your name called, Dunham."

"I spoke to 'Special-Agent-In-Charge' Broyles, and he informed me that I was redundant. I managed to convince him otherwise." Olivia said innocently.

"He said that?" Charlie seemed taken aback.

"Well, not in so many words, but essentially. It was like he had some kind of problem with me, but I don't even know him, or have ever even heard of him before this," she said truthfully. "So where did you say you got that suit from?" Charlie gestured to the back of the truck, where she could now see John pulling a suit on.

She walked over to him, "Agent Scott." she said with a nod and a tiny smile as she passed him by.

She grabbed a suit and helmet and started to pull them on. She hadn't used one since her training days, so she took few moments to familiarize herself with how the helmet attached to the suit. She finished up just as a few of the CDC officials started herding the group of entering agents towards an airport lift truck, that had been maneuvered underneath one of the side hatches in the fuselage. She joined the group as they walked under the plane and up to the lift, which slowly rose towards the closed hatch, after they all climbed aboard. When it reached the proper height, it came to a stop with a slight jerk. After giving them instructions to not disturb anything, they stepped through the containment curtain that had been set up around the entrance. The official closest to the door released the latch and the door popped free, with a hiss.

When the door was pulled all the way open, it slid back against the fuselage. It was completely dark inside the cabin, and the first of the group flicked on their lights and stepped hesitantly across the threshold. When it was her turn, Olivia stepped inside in front of Charlie and John. There was a mist like quality to the air that she didn't care for, and she was suddenly extremely conscious of the HAZMAT suit she was wearing. The oxygen masks must have dropped at some point, they were all dangling like Christmas tree ornaments. Flashlight beams crisscrossed the interior in front of her, casting strange, disembodied beams of light around cabin as the agents in front of her moved further in. They reminded her of a time she and Rachel had been playing in a park with flashlights after dark. She heard what sounded like retching, coming from one someone near the front of the group. When she came across the first of the passengers, she understood why. The person, a woman she assumed from what was left of a mop of long hair, was slouched in her seat, belt still fastened. Her skin appeared to be translucent, and she could see through it to her ribcage in the beam of the flashlight. _Oh My God,_ she said to herself. _What the hell is this?_ She moved further in and saw that they were all like this, every passenger, including some which must have been children, judging from their size. Her first thought upon seeing this, was that she had to get the hell out of there, _like now_. But then, she felt Charlie's presence behind her, reminding her that she had a job to do.

"You okay Liv?" he asked, when he realized she wasn't moving forward anymore.

"Yeah," She said after a moment. "There were kids in here."

"I noticed." he said, "What the hell kind of terrorism is this? Who would do this? And how?"

Olivia looked around and began moving forward again, noting that every passenger was still in their seat, with the belts fastened. She saw what appeared to a flight attendant sprawled in the aisle, near the rear of the plane. The other flight attendants were still belted into their seats at the front, she remembered passing them on her way in. There had been one empty seat, on the left side in the seat closest to the aisle. There was an attendant still buckled to the window seat next to it. She shone her flashlight further down the aisle, and noticed another body.

"Who said it was terrorism?" she said back to Charlie as she moved down the aisle to the second body. It was a man, judging by what was left of his hair and his shoes, which were decidedly male. "Hey, do either of you know if this flight was full?" she asked as she looked around for any empty seats.

"I got a look at the manifest," she heard John say, "definitely standing room only."

She spotted an empty seat a few rows away, and moved closer to investigate. She was picturing different scenes in her mind that could result with the presence of the flight attendant and a lone passenger sprawled out in the aisle, when all the others were still belted in. She shone her light around the empty seat, trying to find anything out of the ordinary. She opened the carry-on cabinet door above the seat, but it was empty. When she directed the flashlight beam to the floor in front of the seat, she saw the edge of what looked like a briefcase. She crouched on the balls of her feet so she could get a better look at it. It was a briefcase, she noticed that the locks appeared to be unlatched.

Charlie noticed her crouch, and said, "Hey Liv, you got something?" as he made his way over to her.

"Maybe, but we won't know until we ID whoever was sitting in this seat and check out his belongings. See, I think that guy in the aisle," she flashed her light on the corpse near the flight attendant, "was the only passenger on his feet when whatever happened, happened. And the flight attendant was maybe, trying to... help him, or... get him back to his seat? I'm not sure. I just think something doesn't add up. Can we move him to the top of the list for identification?"

"I'm on it, Olivia." John said and moved back towards the front of the plane. She heard him giving instructions to someone.

Charlie was shining his light along the rear wall of the cabin. "Maybe your guy just really needed to use the bathroom, Liv, that's all there is back here. I don't see why else he would come this direction."

She considered it, as she looked around, hoping to find something else that seemed out of place. After a while, she determined that there was nothing else immediately apparent, just the lone passenger and his unlocked briefcase. She looked over at Charlie and said, "I think that's it for me. You wanna get out of here?"

"Sure thing, I've had enough of see through people for one day." Charlie replied, and started to head back to the front of the plane. "I'll make sure that briefcase is at the top of forensics to do list once their cleared." he said over his shoulder as he exited the plane.

Olivia followed him out, wondering just what the hell happened here. This was unlike anything she had ever seen or heard of. If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it was even possible. She hoped the CDC, or whoever's job it was to figure out how this was done, had some extremely smart people working for them.

Once she was back in her SUV, she sat there for a moment to collect herself while it warmed up. She thought about calling John, but she figured she would just see him at the Federal Building, so she decided not to bother him. It looked they were going to be pulling an all nighter, so she stopped by her apartment to take a quick shower and grab some fresh clothes and a coffee before heading back in to the office.

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	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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**-Federal Building, Boston**

**Olivia** stepped into chaos as she entered the situation room at the Federal Building. There were agents at every desk, conducting phone interviews, or throwing theories at each other across the room, while others studied video feeds and passenger records at their workstations. The large LCD on one side of the room was on one of the 24 hours news stations, the anchor reporting on what little the press knew of the incident at Logan. In the middle of it all was Broyles, directing agents like a conductor at the symphony. She might have admitted that he was good at his job, if he hadn't been such a jerk to her earlier. John and Charlie were both at their workstations, on their phones interviewing contacts.

She walked over to her workstation, and jumped right in. There was fax from the CDC on her desk, she picked it up and read through it quickly. No matches to any known pathogens or airborne viruses. Great, so much for the bright minds at the CDC_._ She looked at John over her monitor where he was sitting at his desk.

"Hey,"she said, pursing her lips. "How are we doing?"

He gave her questioning look before answering, "Nothing so far, forensics examined your guys briefcase. Nothing to indicate it had anything to do with the incident, just some paperwork and an insulin pen. I checked his medical, and he was diabetic. Sorry Liv." he said. "Maybe Charlie was right, and he really just had to go." he said with grin.

She nodded and have him a tight smile. She hated when a lead didn't pan out. Was this fax all there was so far? She looked over at Broyles, who was talking with Agent Dawson about the ground crew in Hamburg. She needed more to go on. "Have we reviewed the video from the Hamburg Airport? We need to see if any passengers were showing signs of illness." she asked of no one in particular.

A young, curly-haired African-American women seated a few terminals down the row from her answered, "I'm on it now, nothing so far."

"Keep on it," Olivia replied. "Let me know if you find anything."

The young woman nodded her head and continued her work. Olivia turned to back Broyles, he was complaining to an agent nearby about the FAA's lack of urgency in supplying them with the cockpit recording from the black box. Another agent reported that maintenance had replaced an oxygen tank on the plane hour before take-off time.

Olivia said "Please tell me that Germans have shut that terminal down?"

Broyles turned to her. "Yeah, it's been down since 4:00 our time. You got any more questions?"

"Yeah," she replied. "who's point from CDC on the bone tissue and air samples?" She held up the fax from her desk.

"Agent Paley, You want his home number?" Broyles said with a twist of his lip.

"No," she replied. "but I'd like the whole report, not just this fax, claiming that there are no matches on-"

Broyles stared her down, "We're on that too, Liaison. We don't think what happened on that plan was the result of the in-flight movie!"

Olivia turned away and felt her cheeks begin to turn red. _What is his problem!_

Charlie snapped his fingers to get their attention, "Back Bay PD got a call at 3:00, from a guard on duty at a storage facility. He saw two, and I quote 'suspicious middle-eastern' men handing a white guy a briefcase." he finished with his eyebrows raised.

"Liaison, take it. Go see if you can find anything." Broyles said.

Olivia stared at him. "Take what? That? You're telling me investigating some crank call to local PD is my assignment?"

"Yeah honey, would ya mind?" Broyles said, nodding his head. He turned and started to walk away. He stopped, and looked back over his shoulder and met her eyes. "Liaison, there is no such thing as a bad lead when we dealing with an incident of this magnitude."

Olivia looked at John for a moment and nodded towards the double glass doors with a shrug of her shoulders. He grabbed his coat and followed her outside.

She was silent on the drive to the storage facility, stewing on her confrontation with Broyles. She was tired of his head games, they were starting to give her a headache. John fiddled with the radio as he drove, stopping eventually on a current rock station, which just made her feel old.

"Look Olivia," he said finally, "Charlie told me what happened back at Logan, so I did a little research on Broyles, before you came back to the office. Turns out he was in the same squad in the Marines as your old friend, Harris."

Olivia blinked at this. It was all starting to become clear to her. She felt her cheeks getting hot again. "That petty bastard. He's pissed because his best friend sexually assaulted three marine privates. And somehow, I'm the bad guy, cause I'm the one that put him away." She should have known it would be something like this.

John reached over and grabbed her hand. "You know Broyles is an idiot, right? You're smarter, stronger, and you're much better looking than he is. He's just jealous."

Olivia met his eyes and gave him wide smile in thanks. She was feeling better already. John was always there for her when she needed him. She thought she might be ready to say it.

They pulled up to the 'U-Case Storage' facility and got out to look around. It was one of those places that rented out garages and climate controlled storage units. There were several building with lines of roll down garage doors near the entrance. The place looked deserted. They could see a few dumpsters near the facility main office and started to walk towards them. She thought again about the motel, and decided that now was as a good a time as any to bring up. She stopped and waited for him to turn around.

"What?" he said looking around.

"You said you loved me," she stated. "back in the motel. She wondered if the anxiousness she felt was love, it made her skin tingle.

He stared at her for a moment, lips starting to curl upwards, before he shrugged. "Yeah?"

"That was kind of big deal, wasn't it?"

"Well, you didn't say anything back, so I just let it go." he said with a little shake of his head.

He didn't seem upset or nervous, and that surprised her. She felt like she would have been, if someone didn't say it back to her. "I've been sorta bad at this for a long time. Until you came along." She struggled for a moment while her heart pounded in her chest , then went on, "I wanted to say that I love you too."

They stared at each other for a moment until John closed the distance and gave her a gentle kiss, and said, "Let's go check out the trash together." with his eyes not leaving hers as they turned and walked towards the row of dumpsters.

She was smiling big on the inside as they made their way over to where the trash was waiting for them. She didn't think she was going to stop for a while.

John threw back the lid of the first one in line. She peered over the edge as John dug through the garbage. Nothing seemed out of place. Mostly crushed cardboard boxes, someone's fast food carry out bag, an old typewriter. They moved on to the second bin, it was full of black trash bags, and some old carpeting. When she pulled the carpet aside, she noticed what looked like two propane tank valves, sticking up between some bags at the bottom of the bin. She reached in and pulled one out. John grabbed the other.

"It's empty." She observed.

They weren't propane, maybe they were medical gas canisters? They were narrow, about two feet long , each covered in faded gray paint.

John looked over at her. "What's in that? Acetylene? Propane?"

She sniffed the valve of one of the canisters and jerked back at the acrid smell, bringing her fingers up to her nose in disgust. "No, ammonia!" She shook her head.

"Let's take a look around," John suggested as he turned and walked towards the row of storage buildings.

Olivia dropped the canisters and joined him as he was bent over the lock of the first garage door. He had his lock pick set out.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"What are _you_ doing?" he replied with a wink and a grin. "I'm a Federal Agent."

He snapped the padlock open, and lifted up the garage door. Their flashlights illuminated an old car, antique by the look of it. He lowered the door and replaced the lock. The next storage unit had a mound of old furniture stacked from front to back. They worked their way down the line of doors, finding nothing of interest in any of them. It was dark, with snow starting to fall, by the time they finished the first and second buildings.

The third building in the row had more of the same, until John pulled open a door near the middle. They were greeted by the screeching rats, and other unknown animals. They gave each other look before unholstering their service pistols, and entering.

There were tiered rows of cages, monitors displaying graphs and readings, information about who knows what, and other electronic devices, that Olivia had no idea of their function. Near the back, they saw what looked like lab equipment; beakers and burners under cylinders of bubbling liquids. It looked like something she had seen in Chemistry lab back at Northwestern.

"We need to get chem-transport team out here right now!" John said grimly as he looked around the makeshift laboratory. The wind was whipping through the unit, throwing some sheets of paper that had been on a table twirling through the air.

Olivia pulled out her cell phone, "I'm on it." she replied and dialed the number. She heard a telltale beep, and realized that her phone wasn't getting service. "Damn, no signal." She said to John as she moved past him towards the entrance.

Olivia stood for a moment outside as she looked at the meter on her phone, which still indicated no signal. She decided to head back towards their SUV, hoping the it would be better there. She heard John starting to open other nearby storage units behind her, when her phone started getting service again. After placing the necessary calls, one requesting the FBI's Chemistry Unit, and one to bring Charlie up to speed, she started to head back to the storage unit laboratory they had uncovered.

The phone in her hand began to vibrate, she answered it, and heard John's voice telling her that there was a suspect, near the back of the facility trying to run.

Olivia sprinted through the swirling snow, back towards lab. She ran past it and glanced in another open garage door as she went by. It was another lab, similar to the first. She saw a dark haired man run through the intersection of buildings ahead of her, followed by John a moment later. Turning the corner, she followed them through a maze of shipping containers at the back of the property. She heard John's voice, yelling at the suspect ahead of them.

Eventually, the chase led them back towards the units that contained the labs. Suddenly, the suspect stopped, John trained his gun on him, telling him put his hands in the air. The man fiddled with something in his hand for a moment, and then turned away.

Then there was large explosion as the lab John was standing in front of was consumed in a ball of fire and acrid black smoke. The explosion boiled over John, engulfing him.

Olivia saw this happen in slow motion, and screamed his name in shock, as the other lab exploded also in a chain reaction. The concussion threw her back into the into the wall behind her. There was a sharp blow to the side of her head, and she slumped to the ground. She saw a light flickering overhead, and was unable to keep her eyes open any longer.

* * *

Olivia was dreaming.

She saw flashes of light, voices telling her to stay calm, people crowding over her. She wanted to get away from them. She thought she heard Charlie's voice, calling her 'kiddo' and telling her that she was gonna be fine. There were voices in the background, talking about contagions, and chemical compounds. She saw a man being burned alive, thought that it might be John.

_John._

She opened her eyes.

Her head it hurt. She brought her hand up to touch a large bandage on the right side of her forehead. There was an IV in her right wrist. She was in a hospital. How did she get here? She thought for a moment, she had gone to the storage facility with John. It started coming back to her. The labs, the runner, there had been an explosion, and John...

John had...

She could see the fire rolling over him. _Is__ he still alive?_ She felt tears starting to form. She needed to know, one way or the other. She sat up and pulled the IV hose out of the bag. After checking herself for any other injuries, and finding none, she got out of the bed.

The hallway outside her room was deserted. She saw a nurses station at one end, and began to head for it. Her head felt fuzzy from whatever painkillers they had given her, and she stumbled in surprise when a nurse came out of a patient's room in front of her. The nurse saw her and headed her way.

"Miss? You shouldn't be out of your bed."she said and tried to turn her around.

Olivia shook her off and said, "Where's John? Is he okay?"

The nurse gave her a sad smile. "Let's go find the doctor."

She led Olivia down the hall towards the nurses station. A middle-aged man with a stethoscope over his shoulder met them on the way.

"Doctor? Ms. Dunham is looking for Agent Scott?" The nurse have Olivia's arm a squeeze before continuing down the hall, leaving her with the doctor.

"Agent Dunham? I'm Dr. Reyes. You were very lucky today. Your wounds could have been much more severe than they were."

"Where's John?" Olivia interrupted. Why wouldn't they tell her anything?

"Agent Scott," the doctor continued, "wasn't so lucky. While he survived the initial blast, he was exposed to some synthetic chemical compounds, related to work done in the labs you found. His condition is not contagious, but until we know more, it's best not to introduce any additional contaminates. We haven't been able to identify the substance affecting him yet. The CDC has sent some specialists, but they haven't seen anything like what's happening here before. We've put Agent Scott in a drug induced coma, and lowered his body temperature significantly, to try and slow the progress of his condition. I'm afraid that at this time, that's all we can do," he finished. "I'm sorry, Agent Dunham."

"Can I see him?" she said softly, as she felt her throat starting to catch.

"Of course. This way."

The walk to the Isolation Ward was a blur. It may have taken five minutes or five hours. She thought about how happy she had been that morning, when she had worked up the courage to tell him. And now... this couldn't be happening.

They gave her gloves and a surgical mask to wear before she entered the isolation chamber where they were keeping him. She stood in the doorway for a moment before going in. He was laying on a gurney in the center of the room. The steady chirp of the heart monitor was the only indication of life in the silence. He was intubated, a mask partially covering his face. He had white drape over him up to his waist, leaving his chest exposed, covered in wires from the various sensors attached.

She moved closer, not wanting to, but knowing that she must. His skin was beginning to develop red and black patches that appeared to show signs of translucency. She thought she could see his abdominal muscles through a spot on his chest. Her eyes began to tear up.

"John." she said to herself. She felt a tear slowly run down her cheek. The tear angered her. This situation angered her. This shouldn't be happening.

_Synthetic chemical compounds..., _she thought as she stared at his face. _Someone had made this._

There must be something she could do. Someone out there who could help him. Olivia refused to believe otherwise, refused to believe that this was how it was going to end. She was going to find them, and they were going to help her. She was going to save him.

She turned and walked out of the room, back straight, and determined.

Charlie was waiting when she got back to her room. He jumped up from the chair he was sitting in when she walked into the room.

"Hey Livvy, how are you feeling?" He looked her over, focusing on the bandage on her forehead. "Your head okay?"

"I'm okay." she said stoically.

"I heard about John," he sad sadly. "How's he doing? They let you in to see him?"

She nodded affirmative, and struggled to keep her mask up. "They put him in a coma," she said, running her hands through her hair as she looked at a small spot on the ceiling. "They think it might slow the progression of his...condition. Said that was all they could do for him. They uhh.. they don't have any idea what the substance that's causing it is or how to stop it." Her throat was closing up again. She swallowed it down and took a deep breath.

Charlie pulled her in for a hug. "You know, John's strong." He pulled away and put his hands on her shoulders. "If anyone can pull though this, it's him."

She nodded, "Thanks Charlie." she sniffed and shook her head. "Were we able to recover anything at all from the labs?" she asked.

"Nothing useful yet. It was all pretty much blown to hell. Forensics is going through it right now. All they have so far are the remains of the explosive devices. They're trying to trace their origins now." He said looking out the window.

"Lemme guess, the storage units were all rented under assumed names also." Olivia said as she began to gather her clothes. She could feel Charlie's eyes on her in disapproval. "I know what you're gonna say, Charlie. I'm fine."

"I know you are kiddo, while you were gone they told me you could go as soon as you signed the release forms," He cocked an eyebrow at her. "That doesn't mean that you can't take a breather though. You've been through a lot."

"I'm fine," she said again."Really, I am. I could use a lift back to my place though." She bit her lip and raised her eyebrows.

Charlie laughed."Fine, you win."

* * *

Olivia spent the next day going through the files assembled on the Hamburg flight and the labs they discovered. There was nothing to link the flight with the labs they had found, other than the translucent skin condition John was exhibiting. Whatever was released on the plane, appeared to be lethal after a matter of minutes. John's condition was progressing at a much slower rate. Still, the translucency of his skin was too close to what happened on the plane to be coincidence.

Olivia logged into her terminal, and accessed the FBI database. She started running searches on for anything remotely related to the symptoms John was exhibiting.

It wasn't until a search for queries related to _tissue damage_ did she feel like she was making any progress. There was a report on epidermal infection written by a Dr. Walter Bishop back in the seventies. The article didn't seem relevant, but Bishop seemed to be an expert in the field. She thought about some of the corpses on the plane, and how the it looked like flesh had fallen on the bone. She tried the terms _dissolved+flesh_ and and got a hit with another article by Dr. Bishop. The article was titled, _A Report On Dissolved Flesh. _

She tapped a pen on her lips as she skimmed through the article. Jackpot. The article described research he had done for the Department of Defense. It very technical, and light years over her head, but it at least it was a start.

She searched for the database for the current whereabouts of Bishop. He seemed to have dropped off the grid. She dug further and found that he had been involved in a fire at his lab in 1991. His assistant had been killed. He was indicted, but found unfit to stand trial, and had been committed to a mental institution. He'd apparently been there ever since. St. Claire's Mental Institution was located just outside of Boston, to her surprise.

She checked his birthday, he would only be 62 years old. There was a good chance that he was still alive. His file stated that he had a wife, Elizabeth, deceased, and a son, Peter Bishop, born the same year as herself, 1978.

The son had a record, which made her frown, and was a genius like his father. He had been arrested seven times, though never convicted of any felonies, and there was speculation that he had run several successful long cons.

_Wonderful, a con man, _she thought to herself.

There was a list of known aliases, and a photo, which looked like it had been taken from a distance with a telescopic lens. He seemed to be looking directly at the camera with a Cheshire cats smile on his face. He was tall and slender, with short, wavy dark hair, and a layer of thick stubble on his cheeks. His file said that he had blue eyes, though they were covered by his sunglasses in the photo. If he hadn't been a criminal, she might have said that he was an attractive man, not that it mattered to her. He was just a means to an end if it came to that, and hopefully it wouldn't.

His current whereabouts weren't listed in the file. Still, she needed every scrap of information she could find before she went to Broyles with this, so she buckled down, and started the process of locating him, which proved much more difficult than his father.

After an hour of digging through records of employment, and a phone call to a contact at State, she finally found the elusive younger Bishop.

Iraq. In the Green Zone. She hoped to God that actually contacting him would be unnecessary. He sounded like a massive pain in the ass.

Olivia looked at the clock, it was after 10:00pm. She'd been at it all day, and had lost track of the time. She printed out everything she had. It was time to pay a visit to Broyles.

She found him seated at the terminal that had been set up for him when the crisis started. His back was to her, and she hesitated for a moment to collect herself. She pushed some stray hairs that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ears, and took a deep breath.

Olivia approached him and cleared her throat. "Sir? It's me. Liaison." She said, with a slight smile as her peace offering.

Special Agent Broyles stopped what he was doing, but didn't turn to face her.

She waited for a response, but when none came, went on. "I found a link between what happened on the Hamburg flight, and what's happened to Agent Scott."

Broyles turned around at this, brows raised.

"A man named Dr. Walter Bishop. He was scientific researcher, out of Cambridge, born in 1946. Harvard educated, did his post grad studies at Oxford and M.I.T. Look at the research and experiments he was working on in the seventies." She handed him the dossier she had compiled on Bishop.

He glanced through it, with an unreadable look on his face. She thought that the look might be his default expression.

"I believe that Dr. Bishop might have information that can tell us what happened aboard Fight 627, and that he may be able to save Agent Scott's life." she said, hoping he wouldn't pick up on her desperation for the latter.

"Says here that he's been locked up in a mental institution for the better part of seventeen years." Broyles said, looking at her for the first time.

She winced, "Yeah, I saw that. There was a fire in his lab in 1991. His assistant was killed, and he was charged with manslaughter, but was found mentally unfit to stand trial. There were rumors that he had been using students as guinea pigs on some experiments that were run out of the lab."

"And you think the man you just described can help us?" he said doubtfully. "What makes you so sure he's worth our time?"

"What makes you so sure he isn't?" Her volume was starting to creep up.

Broyles sighed apologetically, "Listen Dunham, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot-"

_The wrong foot?_ Olivia thought. He had treated her like some junior agent straight out of Quantico. She had worked her ass off to get where she was. And then there was Harris.

"Look, if my past job performance as a US Marine Special Investigator offends you, then you-" her volume was increasing again.

Broyles cut in, "Yeah, it does. A man who has served his country for thirty years, has a few drinks, and a small lapse in judgment, doesn't deserve five years-"

Olivia stiffened, her voice rising to the point just below a shout. "Well, what does he deserve, a medal? That small lapse in judgment, as you so graciously put it, will haunt three young women for the rest of their lives."

Broyles visibly calmed himself before going on, "Forget it, that's got nothing to do with tonight's business." He paused, as if waiting for her to say anything more, when she didn't, he continued. "Look, Washington has tasked me with the job of making sure our response to Flight 627 is beyond reproach, and that means that everything has to be done by the book. Now, it says here that the glorious state of Massachusetts forbade Dr. Bishop from having any visitors, with the _exception _of immediate family. So, from where I'm sitting, barging into a mental institution waving around the Patriot Act, which is what you would need to get around the restraints, just for some old lab rat, that you think _might_ know something about some of the most terrifying terror that I can possibly imagine-"

Olivia was fuming, "I'm coming to you with a solid lead and your personal resentment towards me is preventing you from seeing-"

"I can see just fine, Dunham." Broyles said. "It says right here, _with the exception of immediate family. _Do you understand immediate family?So stop wasting your breath and my time. You want to question this guy? You find his next of kin, and convince them to escort you in. If you talk to Bishop, and uncover something substantial, related to our case or Agent Scott's condition, and I will have your back. Until then, I am not so convinced. Now, can you handle that?"

"Well, he does have a son." Olivia said contritely, after a moment.

"Is he local too?"

"Not exactly." Olivia paused, not sure of the best way to tell him that to follow this lead, she would need to go to Iraq. Especially now that he was at least talking civilly to her. "His son, Peter Bishop, is working as civilian contractor in Iraq." she said, biting her lip.

Broyles raised his brows in surprise and leaned back in his chair. "You expect me to-"

"Sir, Dr. Bishop is the only solid lead we have. I don't have any other choice." Olivia interrupted.

Broyles stared at her for a moment, jaw clenched. "Tell me what you know about him."

She thought for a moment, considering what to tell him, decided mentioning that he was suspected of being a con man probably wouldn't go over well. "Well, he's a high school dropout, with an IQ of 190, which is 50 points north of genius, a misfit and a nomad. He hasn't kept a job for more than two months at a time. He's been a wild land fireman, a cargo pilot, and even a college chemistry professor."

Broyles looked intrigued at the last occupation.

"He apparently falsified a degree from MIT, even managed to get a few papers published before he was found out." she said in explanation.

He exhaled through is nose, "Fine, I'll approve this, but Dunham, this had better provide something actionable." He turned his back to her, signaling an end to their conversation.

Olivia was floating on the drive back to her apartment. She had done it. She had convinced Broyles to let her go to Iraq, to fetch Peter Bishop. He was right though, it had better be worth it. John was going to die if Bishop couldn't help. Now she just had to figure out how to convince the younger Bishop to come back to the States and help her. She thought of his smirking face in the photo from his file. He was going to be a pain in the ass, she just knew it.

She had a small carry on bag with her when Charlie picked her up to drive her to the airport."You sure about this, Liv?" he asked her as they pulled up to the terminal.

When she didn't reply, he got out and opened the trunk, and handed her luggage out of the back of his vehicle. "Iraq? To find some civvy?"

"It's the only chance I have to save John." Olivia said. "Broyles approved it." She gave him hug, "Thanks for the drive Charlie, say Hi to Sonia for me."

"You be safe over there Dunham." Charlie said.

He got in his SUV, and pulled away from the curb. She gave him a little wave before turning and entering the terminal.

* * *

The flight to Iraq was uneventful, she spent most of the time going over what little she knew of Peter Bishop, and trying to catch up on sleep the rest.

She was meeting someone from the US Embassy at the Baghdad airport terminal, to drive her to a hotel in the green zone, where Bishop was rumored to be working out of. The weather in Baghdad, was dry, dusty, and sweltering. She hoped it wouldn't take long too find him, the prospect of staying here for more than a night was not pleasant.

The hotel Olivia was told she could find him at was clearly of the sort meant to draw western customers. It was very elegant, with arched ceilings and a large double grand staircase curling down towards the intricately tiled hotel lobby floor.

Olivia sat on a bench in the lobby, where she could get a clear view of the exit and the staircases. She had only been there for about half an hour when she spotted him.

He was hurrying down the staircase on the left, taking two steps at a time. He had look on his face that spoke of cats and canaries. He was wearing a light brown blazer, with a blue shirt and slacks.

She got up and hurried over to him before he could make it to the main entrance.

"Peter Bishop?" she called in his direction.

He stopped and turned with surprised look on his face. His eyebrows were raised in question, and he had a hesitant smile on his face.

"Olivia Dunham." she shook his hand. "I'm with the FBI."

.

.

.

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	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

.

**Baghdad, Iraq**

**Peter Bishop** studied the two business men seated across the coffee table from him. They were close, he could see it in their eager posture, the way that they were unconsciously leaning towards him over the coffee table. One of them had started rubbing his thumb and forefinger together when he had calculated the potential profits in his head for them. The other had started running his tongue over his upper lip, and his eyes had grown wide and pupils dilated as he saw the picture that Peter had painted for him. All it would take was another slight push, and they would practically beg him to take their money. He considered several possible ways he could progress from here, depending on how they responded to the next part of the script.

"Look, I know my resume is hardly traditional, but around these parts, traditional increasingly means irrelevant. A hundred billion dollars sunk into your infrastructure, and you can barely keep the lights on. You need someone to oversee construction on over 600 kilometers of pipeline to carry crude between your fields in Kirkuk and the port of Ceyhan. A job well outside the green zone, I might add, while I'm still alive to do so. You need someone who has a handle on the laws of hydro-dynamic resistance, the heat exchange, and the oil mixture flows. You'll also need someone who can work with mixed integer programs, cause you're gonna have to re-size the pipes as you come across uneven terrain. That is, if you want to keep down the construction costs, and isn't that the point gentlemen?" Peter finished in a rush.

The two men turned to each other then and began to discuss it in _Farsi. _They would occasionally glance over at Peter, as they discussed whether or not to make an offer, and how much of their employers money they were authorized to part with.

When Peter heard them mention their employer he knew that the moment had come. "The truth is, I need this job, just as much as you need me to do it for you. I also speak _Farsi, _and 600,000 all-in, sounds very fair." he closed it with a smile he knew appeared disarming. He had them.

The partners glanced at each other and nodded between them. The older one said "Mr. Bishop, we find your proposal acceptable. We will bring our recommendation to our employer, I am quite sure he will find it agreeable. We will be in touch."

The men collected their belongings, and left the room. Peter sat back and relaxed for a moment. Things were looking up. This job would set him up for a long time, and let him pay off a few old debts. He thought about Boston then, and Eddie.

_Time heals all wounds, right? _He thought to himself. _Who are you kidding, Eddie won't forget. Eddie never forgets._

He shook his head and got up to leave the room. Still, what he had accomplished today would put him out of Eddie's reach, maybe permanently, if he wasn't already. He needed to get back to his real room, and start working on an exit strategy.

He considered possible destinations, and contacts he had made over the years. Dubai, was at the top of his list. He knew a guy, a colleague he supposed. He had mentioned in passing, how the surge in oil prices was skyrocketing construction. Permits were being pushed through with minimal resistance, opportunities were ripe, plus he'd never been there before. A perfect place to start over. There would be no reputation preceding him. He would do legitimate work for a year or two, as long as it took to get his name established, as someone who could be trusted. _Then, _he thought, _who knows? I gotta get out of this racket eventually, before I eat a bullet. _It was something to think about. Eventually.

Peter was contemplating these things as he took the stairs two at a time, making his way down the opulent staircase. Suddenly, he heard his name being called from off to his right.

"Peter Bishop?"

He turned to see a young woman about his age coming towards him. She was medium height with a slender frame, and striking, with blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She had green eyes, and a light dusting of freckles on her pale cheeks with full lips. In a word, she was beautiful, even with the large bruise on her forehead, and fatigues and t-shirt she was wearing.

One thing he did know, was that he didn't recognize her, and he was sure he would have if he had seen her before, anywhere. Which begged the question of how she knew him, and what she wanted.

"Olivia Dunham," she said extending her hand. "I'm with the FBI."

Peter nearly recoiled in shock, but managed to limit his expression to what he hoped was an interested smile, as he dropped her hand. "Okay? What can I do for you?" he said hesitantly.

_Fuck, I haven't even done anything yet!_ His thoughts were racing, struggling to recall anything that could have brought him to the attention of the FBI, all the way from Iraq.

"You've heard of Flight 627?" Her voice was deep, for a woman, and had a husky quality that sent little shockwaves, bursting through his synapses.

_Flight 627? What the hell is she talking about? _His mind was still reeling, he had to get hold of himself. Wait, Flight 627, the plane that had been burned on the tarmac in Boston by the CDC. It had not been major news here, but he had seen a short clip about it on _Al Jazeera_. He thought the flight had been from Hamburg.

"The Hamburg flight, of course," he nodded. "I remember seeing a clip about that." This was getting weirder by the second.

"We think you may be able to help us with that." she went on.

Peter blinked in surprise. _Help her with what? Who's we? _He wondered, before deciding he had to end this conversation right now. "No, I think you've got the wrong guy." He started to move past her towards the exit to the street.

"You're father is Walter Bishop?" She asked in a way that told him it wasn't a question.

"The last time someone asked me that it as an accusation." he said uncomfortably. _Walter? _How could Walter have anything to do with that plane, he'd been in St. Claire's since Peter was thirteen years old. He felt his hackles start to rise, as they did whenever he thought of Walter.

"Well, he's the man we're looking to speak with," she said in a businesslike tone. "but with his current status, you're the only one who can provide us access to him." she finished, as if that explained everything.

_Access?_ Peter thought angrily. "How can that man possibly help you?" he snarled. "He's fucking insane. And what is that you're expecting me to do anyway? Drop everything, and hop on a plane with you back to Massachusetts? In case you haven't noticed, I just got here, honey."

If she was disturbed by his outburst, she didn't show it. Her green eyes remained locked on his. "I can have you on a return flight here in four days, but first you-"

"Let me save you the time," Peter broke in, voice low. He leaned over her slightly. "I would rather stay in Iraq. That's how much I want to see my father."

She continued on, as if she hadn't heard him. "I'm going to beg you as one human being to another." she cleared her throat. "You're father may be to help save someone's who is dying. Someone I care about very much."

At this, Peter looked at her closely. Her eyes were intense, as if trying to will him into helping her. She looked desperate. Still, he couldn't do it. He would feel guilty about it later, but he didn't have time for this right now.

"Sweetheart, we all care about someone who's dying. I can't help you. I'm sorry." He walked past her, intending to forget her and this conversation as soon as possible.

He almost made it to the door, before she spoke again, this time with steel in her voice.

"I know why you're here. I have your file."

Peter stopped, and turned to face her. She was looking at him with a cold gaze. He could see the FBI agent in her now. He swallowed nervously. "What file?" he said with a little laugh, trying to sound unconcerned.

"The one the FBI would say doesn't exist, and it has everything," she said, somehow seeming to loom over him. "where you've been, what you're running from. And what you need while you're here. So, either you come with me, or I let certain people know your current whereabouts."

_Fuck, she knows. Somehow, she fucking knows, _Peter thought desperately. His eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out. After a moment, he gave up.

There was no way out. He'd never get out of Iraq alive, if what she said was true. They'd find his headless corpse out in the desert somewhere, if it was ever found. She had him.

_Well goddamn, _he thought. It looked like he was going home. At least he could finally get a proper steak and cheese sandwich.

"Well, when do we leave?" he said, bringing his best smile into play.

"I have a car waiting for us outside." she said through pursed lips, unimpressed. Her lips had a layer of some kind of gloss on them, the only makeup that he could see. He shook his head, and followed her out into the street.

The car was one of the state department vehicles, he saw occasionally in the streets. A black sedan, with tinted windows. _Nothing like painting a target on our backs, _he thought grimly.

Luckily, the drive to the airport was uneventful. Olivia peered out through tinted glass, into the streets of Baghdad, almost completely ignoring him when he had tried to make conversation. She seemed deep in thought, probably about the dying friend, he supposed. After a while he gave up, and thought about the home he was returning to.

He had not expected to return there, ever. Especially to see Walter, after what had happened. He remembered his mother's sad face when she told him that his father was going away. She had been drunk, he knew, he could smell it on her. He could always smell it on her. He didn't want to think about his mother anymore, so he studied the woman sitting next to him out of the corner of his eye.

Olivia looked tired, like someone who hadn't slept in days. She was idly fingering a seam on her fatigues, as if counting the stitches.

"What?" she said, without looking at him.

Peter quickly looked away, grimacing to himself. "Nothing, I was just curious as to when you are going to tell me what this is all about. It's not every day a guy gets free ride home, courtesy of the US government." he quipped.

"We'll talk in the plane." she replied, not even acknowledging his attempt at humor.

_Well, isn't she a bundle of joy, _he thought. The flight back to the states should be a blast.

.

The plane, a jet really, was a small two engine craft, of the sort you'd expect executives to fly around the world in. It had huge seats with plenty of leg room and all the amenities, which he had helped himself to before sitting down across from Agent Dunham. She was on her phone, talking to a Charlie, about the condition of someone, whom Peter presumed was the reason he was on this plane. She ended the call and looked over at him.

"I see you helped yourself." she said. Peter couldn't tell if that was disapproval in her voice or not.

"Yeah, I needed a drink." he replied. "Something about being on planes, makes me thirsty. You want?" He nodded over at the bar.

She stared at him for a moment before turning away towards the window. "No thank you. I'm fine."

Peter had the sense that she was not one to let loose too often, probably was very reserved, and the shy type. That was too bad for her. He hated uncomfortable silences, so he filled them.

"Let me ask you something, my father, not my favorite person, as I'm sure you could tell back at the hotel. He is without a doubt the most self-absorbed, twisted, abusive, brilliant, myopic son of a bitch on the planet, and that's on a good day. So he was a chemist, that much I already know. He worked out of a basement lab in Harvard, doing research for a toothpaste company. I also know that there was an accident at his lab one night, and my father was arrested, beginning the first truly peaceful period in our home." he leaned closer to her, to make sure he had her full attention. "But here's the thing Olivia, my gut tells me that your friends life, the one hanging in the balance, isn't going to be saved by a tub of toothpaste." He sat back, waiting for her to respond.

She almost smiled then, lips starting to curl upwards for a moment.

_So the lady does smile, _Peter thought. _Good to know._

She eyed him for a moment, considering. "Your father, he did work out of basement lab at Harvard, that much is true, but not on toothpaste." She took a sip of her water before going on. "He was part of a classified US Army research program called Kelvin Genetics. They gave him the resources to do whatever research he wanted. He worked primarily in an area called 'fringe science'.

Peter wasn't sure what he was expecting her to say, but it wasn't that. "When you say 'fringe science', you mean pseudo-science." he said skeptically.

"I suppose," she said seriously. "Things like mind control, teleportation, astral projection, invisibility, genetic mutation, re-animation, fertility-"

"Woah, hold up, excuse me for sec," Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. She had to be joking. "Re-animation? Really. So you're telling me... what, that my father is Dr. Frankenstein?" He said the most ridiculous thing he could think of. This was insane.

Agent Dunham shrugged, "Well, I'm not sure he ever made any eight foot tall monsters come to life. But yes, he did work in areas that would seem to defy logic." she said.

"You're being serious," Peter said, rubbing his temple, "I don't believe this." He felt like he had just entered the Twilight Zone. Any minute now he was going to hear Rod Serling announce it over the speaker system. And the agent, she just took it in stride. If anything, she seemed amused by his reaction.

"So this friend of yours," he said changing the subject, "that you seem to think Walter can help, what exactly happened to them?" he asked, hoping to draw her out. He suspected there was a lot she wasn't telling him.

It took her a while to respond, "They were investigating a possible lead connected to Flight 627, and were injured in an explosion." she said. There was a quaver in her voice then, that said everything she didn't say.

"I'm gonna try to get some sleep." she said, reclining her seat and turning to face the window.

Peter felt bad for poking at her, but he needed to know what he was getting into. He reclined his own seat and followed her example.

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	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

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**-Logan International Airport**

**Olivia **spied Charlie Francis waiting for them in the terminal when their flight arrived. She'd had him driver her car there so she could go straight to St. Claire's to speak with Dr. Bishop. He gave her a hug in greeting.

"Hey Liv, how'd it go?" he asked in typical Charlie fashion. "Have any problems with him?" He thumbed over to where Peter was staring, shoulders slumped, out the terminal window. She wondered what he saw out there. Boston was his home town. He hadn't seemed very interested in coming back, and not just because of his father. When she had woken up back on the on the plane, he had been asleep across the aisle from her, thrashing in his sleep, muttering unintelligibly about some lake, of all things. He had a past here, and she was certain that parts of it, maybe large parts of it weren't very pleasant.

She shrugged her shoulders, "Piece of cake, he didn't give me any trouble. Only a little kicking and screaming."

"You trust him?"

Olivia thought about that for a moment. Did she trust him? In the end, he had refused to help her, even after she had begged him. "No, I don't think so. Not yet." Not that it mattered, he most likely would be gone in a few days anyway.

Peter turned from the window, and walked over to where her and Charlie were talking.

"Agent Charlie Francis." Charlie said extending his hand to Peter.

"Peter Bishop." He replied taking Charlie's hand. He let it drop after moment, "So, I take it you're the other end of the phone calls?"

"That would be me. So Bishop, you think your father is going to be able to help Agent Dunham's partner?" Charlie asked, his voice was stern, like it was when he was interrogating a suspect.

Olivia hid a smile behind her hand as she observed Peter's reaction to this. Surprisingly, he didn't seem fazed in the slightest. He just burst out with incredulous laughter. It was the completely unself-conscious laugh one used among close friends.

"Agent Francis, my father has been in a mental institution for the last seventeen years. He's insane. If insanity is a qualification that you're looking for when seeking medical assistance, then yes, I'm sure he will be very helpful." Peter said showing a toothy grin. "Why didn't you tell me it was your partner, Dunham? What's with all the secrecy?"

Charlie shook his head in amusement. "Information is given out on a need to know basis, Mr. Bishop, and right now you don't need to know." he rasped. "It's not your concern."

"Really, it sure seemed like my concern when my presence," he blue eyes locked onto Olivia pointedly, "was requested here."

"Fair enough," Olivia said. "You'll know more if your father can actually help." He would have to be able to help John. It wasn't an option.

"That's good enough for me." Peter replied, still looking at her, as if considering saying more.

"That's good, Bishop." Charlie said "I'm glad you're seeing things her way." He cuffed Peter on the shoulder, before turning to Olivia. "Hey Liv, I'm gonna head back to the office. Keep me updated. Try to behave Mr. Bishop." He nodded towards Peter and headed towards the terminal exit.

She realized Peter Bishop was one of those people who could enter a room full of strangers and leave with a room full of friends. He had a magnetic air to him, even the ever grumpy Charlie, had warmed up to him. He had probably been very successful in his... business, she thought uneasily.

"So, what now boss?" He said, hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Now, we pay a visit to your father, and pray he can help." She replied, walking away from him.

"You're going to have more luck praying, but have it your way." he called from behind as they made their way to the exit and to the car Charlie had left for them.

* * *

**Peter** had his eyes closed as he leaned against the window in the passenger seat of Agent Dunham's car. She had driven through the congested traffic to the Federal Building in downtown Boston, and he was now waiting in the car for her to return. She had decided she needed a change of clothes. When he had asked why she wasn't going home to change, she had just given him an uncomfortable look, and left him in the car, saying she would be right back. He guessed she wasn't comfortable giving him that kind of personal information about her, and he didn't blame her really, especially if she had read that file on him.

After a while, he looked up and saw her walking towards the car, head cocked to one side, with her cellphone against her ear as she fumbled in her purse for her keys. She had changed into a dark suit pants and jacket with a white blouse. She opened the door and got in, ignoring Peter as she started the car and pulled out into the Boston traffic.

"Thank you Dr. Reyes, please let me know if there are any more changes." She said to whom he presumed was the physician in charge of her partner, and ended the call. She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, and her could the white in her knuckles as she gripped the wheel. There was a tremor in her breathing. He guessed whatever news she had just heard, hadn't been good.

"You okay?" he asked. "Was that about your partner?"

She didn't respond for a moment, he could tell she was very tense as she gripped the wheel, knuckles even whiter than they were before. "My partner... John, his condition is beginning to progress at a faster rate. They're having problems slowing it down." she said, once she'd calmed herself.

Peter didn't know what to say, so he gave her what he hoped was comforting smile. If modern medical doctors couldn't help, there was just no way in hell that Walter would be able to do anything. He didn't care what kind of research he had supposedly done, the man was insane. Not to mention that in the seventeen years he had been in there, whatever scientific knowledge he had, was years out of date. The advancement of technology and scientific theory never stood still.

They rode in silence after that, and Peter thought about the years leading up to Walter's incarceration. It had not been a happy time. His mother and Walter had been fighting almost every night that he was home, and he remembered hearing their voices, faintly coming through the floor in his bedroom as listened intently under his covers. He could hear the tears in his mother's voice as she begged and pleaded him to do... something. Peter could never quite make out what. He knew it had had something to do with him though, he always heard his name in the arguments. Walter would end them by storming out of the house, and his mother would cry alone in the kitchen. He would hear the bottle and the glass ring on the countertop whenever she did so. He could smell it on her in the morning, when he tried to wake her up for breakfast, he was making his own and hers at that point. And Walter, he would be gone for longer and longer stretches, while his mother would sit, staring apathetically out the bay window in their kitchen that faced Reiden Lake, always with another drink in her hand.

He had thought she might get better, once Walter was gone from their lives, but she barely seemed to notice. It was then that he decided that _he_ was the direct cause of all the problems, all the fighting between them, the cause of her unhappiness. He had started going on his trips then, less than two years later, and staying away for longer and longer periods of time. When he'd come home, she would act happy to see him, but would eventually encourage him to leave and go see the world. So he had, and then finally decided it wasn't worth coming back, not even when she...

"Peter?"

He jerked away from the window he had been leaning against, and turned to her. She was twisted in her seat facing him, the top two buttons of her blouse were undone, showing off the pale skin underneath. He brought his eyes up to a knowing look on her face. It was not amused.

"Yeah?" he said, cursing himself for getting caught staring at her chest.

"We're here."

He looked around and noticed they had pulled into the snow covered parking lot of St. Claire's. He had been here once before, long ago, but the lot was as far as he had gone. He would be going farther today.

"Wonderful." he said without enthusiasm, opening the door of the car.

St. Claire's Hospital was squat two-story structure, with wings branching off to either side of the main entrance, and a raised section in the middle. The exterior was covered extremely weathered gray bricks, and off-white colored columns across the front. The windows reminded Peter of a county jail he had been tossed into after a bar fight in Tennessee.

Once they were inside, they had to be escorted thru multiple checkpoints, with armed guards standing watch as if this were a maximum security prison. It seemed like overkill to Peter, most of the patients he had seen were elderly, and quite a few in wheelchairs to boot. As they waited for each buzzer to announce their admittance, Peter began to feel uneasiness at the thought seeing Walter again. At each successive gate, the uneasiness grew, until they were at the final checkpoint, and it became full blown terror, or rage, or both, he wasn't sure, at the thought of seeing his father again. It wasn't an emotion he was familiar with.

"You know what? Why don't you go on ahead." he said to Olivia, hoping she wouldn't question him on it. She didn't, just shrugged her shoulders and followed the escort into the holding cell where Walter was waiting.

* * *

**Olivia** left Peter and followed their escort into the holding cell Dr. Bishop had been brought to for their meeting. She hadn't been surprised when Peter had refused to go beyond the last checkpoint. He had grown more and more agitated the further they went into the facility. She had felt the uneasiness radiating off of him, and from the way he had spoken of his father on the plane, she suspected his childhood had not been pleasant, much like her own. If it had been her stepfather behind that door, she wouldn't have wanted see him either.

Dr. Bishop was seated on bench against the far wall of the room.

The escort announced, "Dr. Bishop? It's a special day. You have a visitor."

He turned to face them at this, "I knew someone would have to come, eventually."

Dr. Walter Bishop looked older than the sixty two years his file claimed him to be. A thick, gray beard covered most of his wrinkled face, and he had large bags under his blue eyes, as if he didn't sleep much. He was wearing a faded gray jumpsuit, which zipped down the middle with a white t-shirt underneath. There was a slight tremor to him, reminding her of someone with Parkinson's disease, although his file had made no mention of any medical problems.

"Dr. Bishop? My name's Olivia Dunham. It's nice to meet you." she said in what she hoped was a soothing manner.

He visibly struggled to maintain eye contact with her, "I... I... Dunham...Dunham... Have we met be... before Ms. Dunham?" he stuttered to her.

"No, we have not," she moved closer to him. "Dr. Bishop, I work for the FBI."

He looked at her blankly.

"The Federal Bureau of Investigation, I've come to see you about a case I'm working on." she explained, trying to maintain his attention.

"Do you have any red vines?" he suddenly asked in what seemed like a lucid voice.

"Red vines?" she replied, confused.

"I would so dearly like to have some again." he said wistfully. His eyes were far away.

"Dr. Bishop?" she said, trying to refocus him. "I've come for your help with a case. My partner was exposed to some synthetic chemicals, and with the research you've on tissue damage, I thought you might be able to help us with his condition, and a related incident that happened aboard a plane recently."

He ignored her, eyes darting around the room. "Is it lunch time yet? I feel like I haven't eaten in weeks!" he said angrily to no one.

She turned to the escort, "Is there cafeteria or somewhere he can get some food?" She hoped that might it mollify him, and maybe relax him being out of this cell.

The escort nodded, and led them to a cafeteria not far from the cell. They were serving what she thought was onion soup, which Dr. Bishop ate greedily. She supposed he really had been hungry.

"Dr. Bishop?" she said, trying again to regain his attention when he was finished.

He looked up at her, "Have we met? I'm Dr. Walter Bishop." He said extending his hand.

"Yes, we've met before. I'm Agent Olivia Dunham." she said shaking his hand.

"Oh yes! The lovely FBI agent. You wanted to talk about my research." he said excitedly, slapping his hands together.

She blinked, surprised by his memory of their earlier conversation, and his sudden mood swing. He seemed almost euphoric now. She sat down across from him.

"Yes, I wanted to ask you about your research on tissue damage. There was an incident on plane recently, where the passengers were exposed to what we assume was some kind of chemical, which caused their skin and muscular tissue to begin to dissolve and in some cases, turn translucent. My partner, was exposed to something similar, during the course of our investigations." she finished, taking a deep breath, glad she got it all out without him interrupting.

He didn't respond immediately to her statement, and there was a vacant expression on his face as he stared down at his empty bowl. The thumb and forefinger on his left hand were repeating a complicated motion over and over. His lucidity appeared to come and go, like a camera moving in and out of focus.

"Dr. Bishop? Dr. Bishop?" she repeated, beginning to grow frustrated.

His eyed eyes refocused on her. "This was... when did this happen?" he asked her in a shaky voice, as if he were under a strain.

"The incident on the plane happened four days ago, Agent Scott was injured the next day." she recited.

"Aderm already indurated, translucent. Muscular tissue." he muttered to himself.

"On Scott?" she asked, trying to prod him. "You mean can you see through his skin? Yes, you can."

"Oh, that's not good," he said softly to himself again. "To see through the skin. It's tricky, it's advanced... like that... it's... it's..."

"What's happening to him?" she broke in, getting desperate. Dr. Bishop had the answers, he had to. "Can it be reversed? What is it?" She needed to know. The answers were right here at her fingertips.

"They have this horrible pudding here. Butterscotch pudding on Mondays. It's absolutely dreadful." he said woefully. He looked like he might cry.

Olivia threw her head back in frustration. She was so close! "Dr. Bishop, it's Thursday." she said in resignation.

"Oh, that's fantastic news!" he beamed.

Olivia felt like she was about to scream in frustration when he suddenly continued.

"It can be reversed, what happened to your colleague. Years ago, I worked with lab animals, and some were similarly afflicted, but were saved." he said in lucid tone once again.

Olivia felt a thrill begin to run through her. Her heart started pounding in her chest, "So do you remember what to do? How to save him?" She felt like she was going to explode.

He started trembling again, like he when she first met him in the cell. He reached for his cup and took a deep swallow. "This place, their choice of therapies has left me..." he trailed off, his eyes becoming vacant.

"Dr. Bishop?"

He suddenly looked up at her, eyes the clearest she'd seen them. "You came here with my son today. Peter. I'm not allowed visitors, you see, except immediate family." he said, holding her gaze. "Unless the order has been lifted, and logic tells me there is no reason for it to be so. Then it's a simple if-then formula. If _you _are then so is _he."_

His eyes begged her, "I would so much, so very much like to see him again. So much."

Olivia sighed. He wasn't going to say anything more without seeing Peter first. She wondered if it was all an act, as horrible as the thought was. First the food and now this. She stood up and gathered her things. "I'll be right back, Dr. Bishop."

Peter was staring out the window, arms crossed when she found him down a nearby corridor. He turned to her as he heard her approach. There was questioning look on his face.

"How'd it go?"

"Fine, until he refused to say anything more." she winced, then added, "He asked for you."

Peter looked at her sharply at this. His lips formed a thin line. "Gee, thanks sweetheart, I _really _appreciate that." he almost snarled at her.

"Hey, I didn't tell him you were here. He figured that all out on his own." she said matching his tone. "And call me sweetheart one more time, I'd _really _like that."

He glared at her, brushing her shoulder as he walked by her back the direction she had come from. She turned and watched him walk stiffly away for a moment before following him back to the cafeteria. If Peter Bishop didn't watch himself, she was going to pistol whip that look off his pretty face. _Well, probably not,_ she thought, _but right now I really want to._

When she got to the cafeteria entrance she saw Peter and Dr. Bishop staring at each other, half the distance of the cafeteria between them. Peter slowly began to walk towards him. He stopped a few tables away. She moved further in the room, to catch the interaction between them.

"Hello, Walter." Peter said emotionlessly.

Dr. Bishop stared at his son a moment longer, then said, "I... I...thought you'd be fatter."

Olivia felt her lips curl upwards at this. Peter didn't seem too amused though.

He stiffened, and shook his head in disbelief. "You thought I'd be fatter. Excellent first words Walter. Perfect." His voice was full of scorn towards the man in front of him.

"No," Dr. Bishop said, explaining. "As... as a boy, you were...round."

"Yes, I was Walter," Peter grimaced. "Until the summer of high school, not that I'd expect you to remember that, because you got locked up in a mental institution."

Unfazed, Dr. Bishop stood up and moved closer to Peter. "May I see something, son?" Before he could answer, Dr. Bishop grabbed his head between his hands and looked closely into one of Peter's eyes.

Peter recoiled, thrusting Dr. Bishop away from him. "What are you doing? Keep your hands off me!" he roared at his father.

Olivia moved closer, thinking she might have to intervene, but Dr. Bishop merely turned away from Peter saying, "Pupils are good. They're good." He quickly turned to Olivia, "How advanced is your colleague's condition?"

Before Olivia could say anything in reply, he went on.

"Which is... something... that I... I..." he struggled to get the words out. Olivia watched Peter's face soften slightly at this, showing some concern. "that I'm unable to deduce without first-hand examination. I must see Mr. Scott myself, which I am currently unable to do." he looked at Peter and sat down. "At least under present law. Unless, unless, signed out by a legal guardian, who must be once again a relative." he finished, looking between them.

Peter, incredulous, turned to Olivia, "What are you asking me to...?" He said, face confused. Then quickly, he caught on. "No! Guardian? No!" He said furiously to her.

She had to have Dr. Bishop to save John, and that meant Peter had to do it. She wasn't going to give him an option not to. "He'll do it." she told Dr. Bishop, ignoring Peter's protests.

"No, I will not do it!" Peter said adamantly, blue eyes furiously boring into hers.

"One phone call," she spat out. "That's all it'll take. You want me to make it? Cause I've got my phone in my pocket." She pulled it out for effect, "Now it's out of my pocket." She stared him down, eyebrows raised in question.

Peter glared at her for a long while, eyes burning. Finally he shook his head and leaned closer to her, jaw clenched. "You wanted my father?" He said softly to her face. "Now you've got my father, which falls into the category of, be careful what you wish for." As he started to walk past her, he leaned even closer and whispered, "Sweetheart." in a low voice before stalking out of the room.

Olivia ground her teeth in frustration. _That man_ _is driving me crazy, _she thought furiously. She hoped Dr. Bishop could save John, and she could say goodbye to his smartass son as soon as possible.

Dr. Bishop, having watched their exchange, said in a conspiratorial voice, "I'm not sure what's gotten into my son, Agent Dunham. He used to have quite the way with women as a boy. I'm sure he'll come around, with such a lovely lady as yourself for company." He raised his eyebrows in a creepily suggestive manner.

Olivia turned away from him, feeling herself blush. This was altogether too disturbing. "Dr. Bishop, I'm going to find the administrator, and arrange the paperwork so you can be signed out."

She asked an orderly to take him somewhere where he could get cleaned up for the trip outside the facility, before leaving Dr. Bishop behind.

* * *

**Peter** was in a daze as he left Walter and Agent Dunham behind in the cafeteria. _Goddammit! She did it again! That woman did it again. I don't believe it, _his thoughts racing. He wanted to hit something. Since he had met her less than two days ago, he somehow found himself doing not one, but now, two things he could have sworn he would _never_ do in million years. Coming back here in the first place, and now becoming Walter's guardian? That was a disaster just waiting to happen. The man was insane, and he was no babysitter, he couldn't be. The whole thing was just, impossible.

He heard footsteps and he turned to see a red-faced Agent Dunham coming towards him through the lobby. "What's wrong with you? Did Walter say something?" he found himself asking, strangely concerned. _Why did I ask her that? She deserves whatever it was for ruining my life. "_Lemme guess, he said something completely inappropriate? He used to make a habit of embarrassing me pretty much whenever possible."

"He... ahh... it was nothing." She stammered and turned a slightly darker shade of red. "Your father is getting himself ready to go. You need to get the paperwork filled out for his release. I'm going to see if I can locate the administrator. Now, can you wait here for Dr. Bishop without getting into any _more_ trouble?"

He grinned at her, showing teeth. "Well, you've already got me doing things I could have sworn I would never do, so what's one more thing."

She rolled her eyes at him and left him standing there. He walked over the receptionist's desk and filled out what was required of him. He still couldn't believe he was doing this, on purpose no less.

Agent Dunham returned to the lobby shortly later with a hatched faced man with light brown hair in tow. He said nothing, but clearly he disapproved of this course of action. Peter ignored him, the man wasn't his problem. Olivia was pacing around the lobby, impatient to get out of there. He could understand that. This place was practically a prison, worse than what he had been imagining the last seventeen years.

When Walter finally was ready, he found himself staring into the face of the man he knew from his childhood, just with a bit more wrinkles. He was even wearing the clothes from that era. Peter supposed that they were the clothes he had had on when he was brought here seventeen years ago. He had shaved his beard off, and he actually looked much saner than he had with the Ted Kaczynski beard he'd been sporting before.

Agent Dunham stopped her pacing and looked Walter up and down. "You ready to go Dr. Bishop?" she asked him in a voice belying her previous impatience.

Walter stood, back straight, and chin up. There was a sense of dignified pride to him, that hadn't been there before. "Yes, I am quite ready to leave the premises." Then he gave a little smile, head bobbing slightly. "You know what sounds absolutely delightful? Fresh baked rhubarb pie! Can we stop and get some?"

"Walter, you're getting out to help save a man's life. Not to eat pie. Now let's get going." Peter ordered, guiding Walter towards the exit.

Olivia trailed after them, after sharing a look with the administrator.

Peter was sitting in the passenger seat next to Agent Dunham as they headed back to the highway that would take them back to Boston. Walter had tried to call dibs on the front seat, but Peter had shot that right down. The radio was on a news channel, with the personality discussing the strange occurrence, that was Flight 627.

"Agent Dunham, are you investigating the very incident that is under discussion on that device right now?" Walter suddenly asked from the back seat.

Peter rolled his eyes, "Walter, it's called a radio, and they existed well before you were put away." he said sarcastically.

He caught a ghost of a smile on Agent Dunham's face before she replied.

"Yes, Dr. Bishop, that is the case I'm working on. The details are classified though, so I can't really tell you much at this time." She said in a professional sounding voice.

Peter suspected that she said those or similar lines frequently, when talking to witnesses and such, they had the ring of habit to them.

"Of course," she went on, "if you are going to be able to help us, then those details will have to be made available. But our first priority right now is John... Agent Scott." she corrected herself.

Peter wondered who this John person was to her. He was her partner, sure, but she seemed willing to go to extraordinary lengths for him. Dragging his ass all the way back from Iraq to get an insane man out of a mental hospital? He was pretty sure the FBI frowned on those kind of relationships between partners. Which told him, that she wasn't quite the buttoned up, by-the-book, agent she made herself out to be. He filed that information away for later use.

"Were you able to enter the plane and see the effects of the chemicals first-hand? I bet that was exciting!" Walter said, bouncing in his seat. _He's just like a child,_ Peter thought, staring out the window. _What the hell have I got myself into._

"Yes, my team was one of the first responders to the incident." she grimaced. "I wouldn't have called it exciting though. It was one of the most disturbing experiences that I've ever had."

"I was merely referring to the experience from the perspective of a scientist, seeing a new phenomenon for the first time." Walter explained, then added, "Getting excited at the prospect of seeing a plane full of men, women, and no doubt children, of all size and ages, who have had their flesh dissolved, would be... something only a madman could appreciate. Don't you think?" he asked merrily.

"Of course, Walter," Peter said dryly. "Luckily, we don't have any madmen here, do we?"

"Indeed, we are lucky, son." Walter said gravely.

"Dr. Bishop," Agent Dunham said, changing the subject. The plane must have been have been terrible, judging from the look on her face. "I was curious, did anyone else ever have access to your work?

Walter replied in a reminiscent voice, "Well, there were the assistants, they had some bits and pieces, I suppose... God, I suppose the only person who really knew what we were doing in that lab was Belly." he finished, as if that explained everything.

"Who?" Dunham said, confused.

"Belly. William Bell, he and I shared the lab."

Peter was stunned, and Dunham appeared to be also.

Walter looked between them at their surprised faces. "What?"

"William Bell?" Dunham managed to get out.

"You shared a lab with the founder of Massive Dynamic?" Peter said in disbelief.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what that is. Massive Dynamic." he said nonchalantly.

"Oh, it's nothing really. Just a tiny little company." Peter replied, shaking his head in resignation. This was just getting better and better.

"That's just perfect." He said to Dunham. "One guy by becomes the wealthiest man on the planet, the head of a multi-billion dollar, multi-national corporation, the other guy, my father, becomes an institutionalized psychopath. That's wonderful." He caught Olivia with an actual smile on her face at his words, he filed that away too.

"Uh oh!" Walter suddenly exclaimed.

"What is it? What happened? Olivia said, looking back at him concerned.

"I just pissed myself." Walter said, unabashedly.

"Excellent." Peter said glancing at Walter, then Olivia with a smirk on his face.

"It was just a squirt." he said in defense.

He met Olivia's eyes, and shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "My father." was all he needed to say.

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	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

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**-Boston General Hospital**

**Olivia **pulled her black sedan into a spot at Boston General. It has been a relatively peaceful drive after Dr. Bishop's 'incident'. Peter had either fallen asleep against the window or was deep in thought. She was conscious of what had happened last time he was leaning against the window, was pretty sure he had been checking her out. She rolled her eyes, _typical man, _she thought. He had seemed less hostile towards her on the way back though, so maybe he was accepting that he was stuck here with his father, and her, she supposed, for few days at least. If that was the case she would be grateful, she was beginning to think Dr. Bishop was going to be a handful. He had passed out at some point also, and was snoring loudly from the back seat.

She had left a message for Charlie when they had reached Boston proper, to meet her at the hospital. This time she got out and slammed the door loudly, jerking Peter awake. He sat up straight instantly, looking around and getting his bearings, saw her standing outside the car waiting for them. He gave her a salute and turned around in his seat to wake Dr. Bishop. After considerable efforts on his part, he finally got Walter out of the car.

Olivia wondered why he always called him 'Walter', and what had happened for the breakdown in their relationship to be so severe. Had he referred to his mother the same way? He hadn't mentioned her at all, nor had Dr. Bishop. She could remember calling her stepfather his real name as a girl, but then again he hadn't been her real father. She was pretty sure Peter didn't have that problem. She thought she might ask him sometime, if he seemed open to it.

They walked inside the hospital and took the elevator up to the Isolation floor where John was being quarantined. Dr. Reyes was making his rounds when they arrived. She left the others in the waiting area and met the doctor at the nurse's station.

"Agent Dunham, how are you?" he asked, shaking her hand. "How is your head?

"It's feeling fine," she said, resting against the counter. "Have you learned anything new regarding Agent Scott's condition?"

"The CDC specialists are completely baffled," he replied with chagrin. "All they have been able to do is confirm that their initial hypothesis, that his condition is caused by a synthetic compound, was correct. Additional tests have been inconclusive."

"Thank you for your diligence, Dr. Reyes. I really appreciate it." She said sincerely. She paused for a moment before going on in an official sounding voice. "Dr. Reyes I've brought some specialists, and I'd like them to take a look at Agent Scott, if you don't mind." She gestured for Peter and his father to come forward. She prayed Peter would cooperate, and not make an ass of her by denying it or saying something inappropriate.

Peter came forward, "Peter Bishop," he said, "My father is the man you really want to talk to." He seemed to guess what she had been thinking from the smug smile he gave her.

Walter stepped forward, hand extended. "I'm Dr. Walter Bishop," he said, shaking Dr. Reyes hand vigorously.

While Dr. Reyes was informing Walter of the current status of John, Olivia spotted Charlie and a young african-american woman approaching from down the corridor. She got Peter's attention, and nodded towards Walter, hoping that he would understand that he was to stay and watch him. He gave her a thumbs up, and motioned for her to join Charlie.

He was waiting for her near the nurse's station, wearing his usual trench coat. The young woman waited discreetly, a few steps away. "Hey Liv, I just got your message. How's he doing?"

Olivia smiled weakly, "Well, he's not doing so good," she said, picking at a seam on her coat. "and all the CDC can say is that his condition was caused by a synthetic compound, which is like saying rain is caused by a wet compound. All the tests they've ran have come up with nothing."

"What about Bishop?" He gestured towards where Peter and Walter were taking to Dr. Reyes.

"Left or right?" He's insane, and the other is irritating. But Dr. Bishop is also my only hope." She decided not to mention her and Peter's differences of opinion, as she called them, Charlie would likely get all protective on her, and she didn't need that. "Listen, Charlie. I need to question William Bell, can you set that up for me?" she asked sweetly.

"William Bell? Massive Dynamic's William Bell?" he asked quizzically.

She nodded her head affirmatively. "He and Bishop? They used to share a lab together, back in the eighties."

"No way." Charlie said, shocked. "I'll see what I can do, Liv, but it ain't gonna be easy."

"Thanks Charlie. I'm gonna take the Bishops in to see John. I'll keep you updated."

"Sure thing," he looked at her for a moment with kind eyes. "One more thing, this is Junior Agent Astrid Farnsworth, she's been assigned your assistant, she volunteered actually, when Broyles was handing out assignments to the juniors." He said, indicating the young woman with the curly black hair. He turned and left towards the elevator lobby.

She turned to the junior agent. She recognized her as the agent who had been looking over video feeds just after the incident in the plane. "Hi, I'm Agent Olivia Dunham," she said taking her hand. "You volunteered to be my assistant?"

"Yes, I'm Junior Agent Astrid Farnsworth." She said with a high-pitched voice. "I did, volunteer that is, I had heard about you." she said embarrassed.

"Really?" Olivia said, surprised. "What did you hear?"

"Just that you were one the best profilers, tough and very straightforward... I thought I could learn a lot from you." she said honestly.

Olivia laughed uneasily, "Well, I don't know about all that, but I do my best." She didn't like the thought that she had developed some kind of reputation, she preferred to remain as inconspicuous as possible. "For the moment, all I need assistance with is Dr. Bishop." She gestured back towards where the eccentric scientist and his wayward son.

Olivia and Astrid walked back over to where Peter and Dr. Bishop were still talking with Dr. Reyes. She heard Walter telling a tale, no doubt from his mad scientist days, from the uneasy look on Dr. Reyes's face, which prompted Peter to jump in.

"You'll have to excuse my father, he has a very vivid imagination." he said indulgently. He saw Olivia coming towards them, and a relieved smile appeared on his face."Agent Dunham, my father was just telling Dr. Reyes the most fascinating stories." He rolled his eyes towards Dr. Bishop, with an intense look on his face.

"Oh yes," Dr. Bishop agreed. "I was just going to tell my friend here, Dr. Reuben, about the time I tested my hypothesis, that the consumption of human brain tissue could possibly lead to increased-"

"Okay Walter, let's go check out that vending machine over there." Peter interrupted smoothly, grabbing his father's shoulders and turning him in the direction of the waiting room, much to Walters protest. He gave Olivia an impatient look, and glared at her to hurry up.

"Dr. Reyes, l know Dr. Bishop may seem, unconventional," she said imploringly, "but he does have first hand experience with dealing with conditions similar to John's."

He waited a moment before replying, as if wondering what kind of experience Dr. Bishop could possibly have with translucent flesh. "Well, as long as they have clearance..." he trailed off.

"They do," she assured him. "I have cleared them both with my superiors. Now where can we get suited up?"

A nurse took them to changing room, where they were all required to don scrubs and surgical masks and gloves before entering John's quarantine chamber.

"Peter, Dr. Bishop? This is my assistant Agent Astrid Farnsworth. She's going to be working with us." Olivia said to the both of them.

"I'm Dr. Walter Bishop," Walter said, delighted. "Aren't you lovely, my dear! Peter, isn't she lovely?"

Olivia watched Peter shake his head in resignation. "Walter... Peter Bishop." he said smiling at Astrid. "Excuse my father, he... well you'll get used it." he turned to his father. "I see you still have no problem embarrassing me at every opportunity." he complained to himself.

"Whatever do you mean, son?"

"Just forget it Walter. Can we get on with this?" he said impatiently to Olivia.

She led them through the clear curtains and into John's containment chamber. Peter's eyes grew wide at the sight of John's condition as he walked slowly into the chamber. He looked at her with an emotion she couldn't quite decipher. Was it regret, or sorrow on his face? She wasn't sure, either emotion would surprise her coming from him.

Astrid stayed as she could to the back of the room, eyes huge in disbelief. Clearly, her training had not prepared her for this.

John's body was lying on an examination table in the center of the room, still covered in cold packs and electrodes. His skin was noticeably more translucent than it had been last time she was here. There was only the faint rise and fall of his chest to indicate he was still alive. She'd been putting her feelings aside, locking them away, so she would be able to function, but seeing him again like this, they were threatening to break down the barriers she'd erected around them.

She felt Peter's eyes on her and she glanced at him, not expecting the concern she saw written on his face. When he noticed her look, he quickly masked it with the sullen expression he'd been sporting most of time since he'd arrived back in Boston. It appeared he did have a heart that wasn't completely black, she wondered idly.

She noticed Dr. Bishop was standing next to John, staring up vacantly at a light fixture. "Dr. Bishop?" she said trying to bring him back to the present.

Dr. Bishop looked around, as if he had just realized where he was. He saw John's body and bent over to examine him.

"Some ginger ale." He muttered to himself, "I need ginger ale. I haven't had it in a long time, I miss it." he said desperately to Peter.

Peter looked exasperated at this. "Walter, we don't have any ginger ale. Can you focus on Agent Scott, please."

Olivia turned to Astrid, "Can you get Dr. Bishop some ginger ale?"

"Oli... Agent Dunham, you don't have to indulge him like that," Peter said "He's fine."

"It's the least I can do if he can help John." she explained. She hadn't missed how he almost called her by her first name, she wasn't sure what that meant, but it couldn't be a bad thing.

Dr. Bishop, having completed his initial examination, turned to a nearby table which had a row of sterilized surgical tools on top of it. He grabbed a scalpel and approached John's still form.

Peter jumped forward as Dr. Bishop drew the scalpel close to John's shoulder, "Whoa, stop right now! Stop!" He grabbed Walter's wrist and looked at Olivia, "Does this not concern you?"

Olivia returned Peter's stare, thinking about their last night together in the motel. John had told her he loved her. And she did love him, she'd just been afraid, to say it out loud. She owed it to him to do anything in her power to save him. "Let him go." she told Peter.

Peter looked at her as if _she_ were the insane one, but complied with her order.

Dr. Bishop bent over John again, scalpel extended. He brought edge close to the skin on John's left shoulder. The scalpel shook visibly in his hand for a moment. Peter looked ready to pounce, as Dr. Bishop calmed himself, and gently scraped a thin layer of flesh from the shoulder.

"Petri dish," he looked at Peter, "quickly, Peter, please."

Peter looked around, and seeing what he was looking for in a cabinet against the wall, grabbed a clear dish for the tissue sample. "What are you going to do with that anyways, Walter?"

"I need to take this to my lab right away." Dr. Bishop replied.

"Your what?" Olivia asked him, certain that she had heard him wrong.

"Kresge Building basement, Harvard. We should leave right away. I have the sample I need." Dr. Bishop made as if to leave the room.

"Dr. Bishop, your lab was shut down after you left." Olivia told him.

"I'm sorry? What did you say?" Dr. Bishop said, perplexed.

"Wake up, it's gone Walter." Peter said scoffed. "Did you think Harvard was just gonna keep your lab open, ready and waiting for you to get back from your trip to the loony bin?"

Olivia glared at Peter, surely he could see that this was not helping the situation.

Dr. Bishop began to pace around the room, muttering to himself, "No, no, no, no, no, no..."

Olivia could feel the situation starting to spiral out of control. Peter must have felt it to, because he jumped in front of Dr. Bishop, both hands raised in a non-threatening manner.

"Walter, there is no lab," he said gently, "I'm sorry."

Dr. Bishop spin around and knocked over the surgical tool table, sending equipment flying in all directions. "It was a perfectly good lab," he raged, "Damn them, they had no right." he punctuated that statement by sending more equipment and machinery flying.

"Walter stop it!" Peter grabbed Dr. Bishop's hands trying to calm him down. He looked over at Olivia, "We need to get him out of here right now."

She was beginning to agree, he was behaving irrationally. She started having doubts about this whole thing. Maybe Peter was right, and Dr. Bishop was indeed just a liability.

At that point, Astrid returned to the isolation room, with a ginger ale in hand, unaware of what had transpired in her absence. "Ginger ale anyone?" She walked over to Dr. Bishop, opened it and handed it over to him. He immediately stopped his raving and took a deep drink of the beverage.

"Ahhhh..." he said, eyes closed as he swallowed it down. "That's delicious, I haven't had one of these in seventeen years... You know, this reminds of the time I met a woman named Ginger, in Atlantic City, she and I went..." He noticed their stares and looked around the room, "What?"

Peter bent down to upright a knocked over table. "Are you OK Walter?" He asked in a soothing voice, approaching his father. "Cause you seemed a little upset when Agent Dunham told you about your lab at Harvard just a minute ago."

"It's just that I need my lab if I'm to be of any help to you." Dr. Bishop said in a pathetic voice.

Olivia thought she understood what Dr. Bishop was going through. He was afraid that if he couldn't help he would have to go back to St. Claire's. "Dr. Bishop, I will do my best to try to get you access to your old lab, but I can't promise you that it's still there, and not being used for something else currently." She offered him. "Will that be OK? If it's not available, I'm sure the FBI can come up with another laboratory you can use."

"C'mon Walter," Peter said in a surprisingly gentle voice as they filed out of the isolation room, "let's go down to the cafeteria and get some food while we wait."

"I am rather hungry," he replied meekly. "Do you think they have any apple fritters?"

Peter laughed at this, head thrown back, "We'll see Walter, we'll see."

Olivia watched them go for a moment before turning to Astrid, "Can you get touch with Harvard, and find out the status of Dr. Bishop's old lab in the Kresge basement?"

"Of course, Agent." The junior agent replied, pulling out her phone and walking down the corridor towards the elevator.

Olivia informed Dr. Reyes that they were leaving, and that she would share any new information that Dr. Bishop learned with him and the CDC. As she was heading towards the elevator, she caught sight of Agent Farnsworth hurrying down the hallway in her direction. She appeared excited.

"Agent Dunham," she said drawing close. "Good news!"

"What did you find out?" Olivia asked the young woman.

"Well, after the fire in Dr. Bishop's lab seventeen years ago when his assistant was killed, the university closed the lab up when Dr. Bishop was committed." she recited. "Over the years, they started using it for extra storage space when they started running out of room. The good news is that Dr. Bishop's lab equipment, it's all still there. They never cleared it out." She finished, her hair bouncing in her enthusiasm.

"Good work, Agent Farnsworth." Olivia congratulated her. "Let's go collect the Bishops, and see about getting access to the lab." She could feel her excitement building as all of the pieces seemed to be falling into place.

It was going to work, they were going to get the lab, and Dr. Bishop was going to save John. One thing she knew for sure though, was that she was done with secret affairs in old motel rooms. She wanted to have a real relationship with him, with everything out in the open, and if the Bureau had a problem with that, then some kind of arrangement would have to be made. She pictured the two of them, waking up together, him making her some eggs and toast while she did her crossword puzzles, drinking their morning coffee together. They could have a normal life, they can't have been the first partners to fall in love with each other. She would see to it.

She pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind as she and Astrid got on the elevator. When they reached the lobby, she sent Astrid to retrieve her car, while she made her to the cafeteria.

Olivia considered her next move as she looked around for the men. She decided that a phone call would not do it for her debriefing with Broyles. He would brush off her next request, unless she could convince him otherwise, and it would need to be done face to face.

When she finally spotted the Bishops, they had taken seats near the serving line, and Dr. Bishop was busy eating what looked like mashed potatoes with candy sprinkles as a topping. She stared at the bizarre combination for a moment, before turning to Peter, "You guys ready to get out of here?" she asked, giving Walter's plate a questioning look.

Peter shook his head in disgust, "I know, it looks terrible doesn't it? I tried to convince him that gravy was a better choice, but that's Walter for you." he said to Olivia in feigned mockery.

"The potatoes are perfect carrier to deliver the sprinkles with just the right consistency. I told you this Peter." Dr. Bishop said shaking his head sadly, as if disappointed in his son's lack of understanding.

Peter gathered his things from the table and stood. "C'mon Walter, I think Agent Dunham has some news for us. Am I right?" he said, watching her closely.

"Well, Agent Farnsworth contacted Harvard," Olivia reported to Dr. Bishop, aware that Peter was watching her again. She'd noticed that he'd been doing that a lot since they had left St. Claire's. "Your old lab is still intact, but we still need to get the go-ahead from the FBI and the university before we can proceed."

"That is wonderful news, Agent Dunham!" Dr. Bishop exclaimed clapping his hands together.

She blinked as he actually started dancing what appeared to be jig in the hospital cafeteria. The man was so odd. Peter seemed to agree, judging by the way he was staring at Dr. Bishop as if he were insane, which she supposed, he was.

Astrid met them at the entrance, having parked the car at the drive up. The drive to the Federal Building was uneventful, other than the bickering between Dr. Bishop and Peter, about the most inane things, anything from where to get the best steak and cheese sandwiches in Boston, to some technical aspect of a thing called a _Tardis, _which made absolutely no sense to her, Peter seemed to think Walter was way out of date on it.

When they arrived at the Federal Building, the Bishops and Astrid waited in the lobby, while she went in to persuade Broyles into pressuring Harvard for the lab. Olivia walked through the crowd of agents and workstations, some stopping to offer their condolences or ask about the condition of her partner. She answered them all stoically, not wanting anyone to read too much into her relationship with her partner. She stopped at her desk, checked to see if she had any outstanding messages, and if there had been any new leads on Flight 627 in the day and half she'd been gone. Olivia felt like she might have been neglecting her duty to her job, running around all over the world, when she should have been devoting her time to investigating a potential biological weapon of mass destruction that had just been tested on innocent civilians. She told herself that the two were related, and by trying to save John, she was doing the other also. It was a dilemma she had never encountered before. She was beginning to understand the regulations about relationships between partners the Bureau maintained. Was her judgment being clouded?

_He would do it for me, _she told herself. _He would do it for me. _She owed it to him.

She arrived at Broyles office door, paused to ready herself, and went in.

"Sir." she said as she closed the door behind her.

Broyles looked up surprised, "Liaison. When did you get back?"

"Just this morning." she replied, coming to stand before him. "I need your help. I've successfully had Dr. Walter Bishop released from St. Claire's, and in order to help us with Flight 627, and with Agent Scott's condition, he requires the use of his old laboratory." she finished in a rush, glad to get it all out before he could interrupt.

"I'm sorry, he what?" Broyles asked, eyes narrowing in irritation.

"His lab. Kresge Building, Harvard. Basement." Olivia responded, feeling her own irritation grow.

"You know, it would be nice to think your tenacity in this case," he said, his tone be belying his words, "is a byproduct of a remarkable and robust professionalism. But I can't help but wonder, if there wasn't something going on between you and Agent Scott." he finished suspiciously.

"My relationship between my partner and I is between us. What's relevant, is that if we want to save his life, and understand what happened on Flight 627, then Dr. Bishop is our best chance. Get the lab for Bishop." she said coldly. "I'll wait here while you make the call." she added with false sincerity.

Agent Broyles sat back in his chair, hands steepled on his chest, studying her. His reptile eyes pinned her to the floor. She swallowed a lump in her throat, thinking she might have gone too far, been too presumptuous.

_Oh God, he's going to fire me... fuck... fuck... _She was thinking furiously to herself, but somehow managing to keep her face straight.

Just when the moment began to grow too intense for her to maintain her composure much longer, she saw his lips curl upwards slightly.

"Fine, Agent Dunham. Have it your way." he said, picking up the phone.

What was that she detected in his voice? Was he amused? Olivia wasn't sure, but she had the sense that not many people stood up to him. Maybe he liked a challenge every once in a while. She listened as he placed several phone calls, working his way up the Harvard administrative ladder. Eventually, he was passed to the president of the university himself. After explaining the situation in general terms, the president acceded to his demands, although talk of payment for renting of the space was mentioned, with Broyles eyeing her at this.

He hung up the phone. "There. You happy now?" he said sardonically.

"Not really," she replied seriously. "I'd rather my partner wasn't dying of some unknown skin dissolving agent and that 147 passengers plus the crew weren't just killed in some kind of twisted terrorist attack."

Broyles face softened by fraction and he nodded. "I understand, Agent. You've got your lab, now pray Dr. Bishop can find us some answers."

.

.

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	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

.

**-Harvard, Kresge Bldg, Basement**

**Olivia **followed the other across the quad toward the Kresge Building on the far side. It was a three-story structure, with a parapet and an arched doorway set off to one side, and five columns with pointed tips jutting out from yellowed brick front of the building.

Dr. Bishop led the way through the throngs of students filing about in between classes. Eventually, they ended up in front of a door with a frosted glass window, and Dr. Bishop's name was still visible, printed in faded black lettering on the glass. The room beyond was dark. He unlocked the door, Olivia having retrieved the key from a staff member earlier, and went inside.

Olivia looked around the lab for the first time, committing it to memory. The space was a large multi-level room, and steps with handrails down to the lower level once one entered father in. Several lamps in the rows of circular light fixtures popped and emitted a shower of sparks, once power was restored. There was a small office near the back, with windows into the lab, which Olivia could see herself utilizing. In front of the office was a row of archways that ran the length of the room. There were jumbles of equipment and casework covering most of the floor space. On the countertops were masses of beakers, test tubes, twisted glass tubes, and machinery of all sorts. A large kiln or coal furnace rested in one corner. Most of the larger equipment had faded white canvas covering them.

Dr. Bishop stood still for a moment, observing, then turned to them. "So much... So much has happened here, and so much is about to." he said in strange voice.

Olivia looked sharply at him, wondering if he knew something she didn't. He didn't elaborate though, just moved farther in marveling over this and that, surprised that his things were still there.

Peter and Astrid started pulling the canvas off of the nearest pieces of equipment as Dr. Bishop walked over to a large canvas covered object, and started uncovering it.

"Oh, she's still here!" Dr. Bishop said in an ecstatic voice. "This tank was the best!"

It was a metal tank, with two doors, set angled into one side, and covered with wires and electrodes sticking out from all sides. Olivia didn't have clue what it could possibly be used for that could cause such excitement in his voice.

"Dr. Bishop?" Olivia called over to him. "I've ordered a standard forensics' work package. Is there anything else you think you'll need?"

He started naming off items as if he were reading from a list. "An optical coherence tomograph for flesh study. Two thousand pounds of silicon."

Olivia met Astrid's eyes, tilting her head in Dr. Bishops direction. Astrid got the message, pulling out her notepad, and started jotting down Dr. Bishops requests.

"At least five anonymous blood samples, from volunteer donors," he said continuing, "a micro-organism detector, NASA grade, of course, there is still a NASA, yes?" he added.

"Yes, Dr. Bishop. NASA still exists." Olivia said.

"Excellent news," he replied jovially, "Oh, and a two year old _bos taurus._" he added as he was examining the furnace.

"A what?" Astrid said quizzically.

"A cow," Peter answered, as he was trying to pull the canvas off of nearby table. "he's asking for a cow."

Dr. Bishop continued, "Purebred. Not cross-bred, this is very important. Mature weight should around 850 pounds, total fat average of 2.37."

Olivia moved forward to help Peter with the canvas. "Is he joking?" she asked, grabbing an end and lifting it off the equipment, which appeared to be a variety of Bunsen burners. What could Dr. Bishop possibly need a cow for, and where would he put it?

"Genetically," Peter replied smartly, "humans and cows are only couple of lines of DNA, so that makes them an ethical test subject."

As they started removing the upside down stools from the table, she noticed he had a rather pleased look on his face. She supposed it was for him knowing what she had not, and getting to demonstrate it. "Where'd you learn that?" she asked him sarcastically, "MIT?"

"Very funny," he replied, as he was wadding up more canvas. "actually, I learned that from reading books. You should try it some time. It's fun." He finished with an extremely smug look on his face as he stepped into her personal space and shoved the canvas into her arms.

She locked her glare onto his face and stared him down with a haughty look. Peter's eyes seemed particularly blue at that moment, his gaze never wavering from hers. She noticed that the stubble on his face seemed extra thick, casting a dangerous shadow on his face. She could feel his breath on her cheeks faintly. Suddenly, she noticed that he was standing very close to her, and wondered when that had happened.

Olivia kept her glare on him for a moment longer, then turned away from him, needing to get him out of her space. _Infuriating man! _She said to herself. He seemed particularly adept at getting under her skin. She wanted to hit that look right off his face. She noticed Dr. Bishop watching them out of the corner of his eye with a sly smile, and it brought back the memory of what he'd said to her in the St. Claire's cafeteria. Olivia covertly glanced back at Peter, who now looked even more pleased with himself, if that were possible. The two of them made her want to pull her hair out in frustration.

She looked over at Astrid, who thankfully appeared not to have noticed her and Peter's interaction. "Agent Farnsworth, get him the cow."

"Fantastic, thank you!" Dr. Bishop said. "The only thing better than a cow is a human, unless you need milk, then you really need a cow."

Olivia shared an amused look with Astrid, purposefully ignoring Peter. She started making a mental list of things that needed immediate doing. She needed to call Broyles and update him on the lab, and send Astrid to collect her files from the Federal Building and get a coffee maker. She was definitely going to need coffee. She walked back to the office she had seen earlier and looked inside. The room had a large desk in the center, with rows of file cabinets along the two of the walls. The wall facing the lab had a row of windows with dusty metal blinds covering them. She thought it would do nicely for a temporary office.

* * *

**Peter** was leaning back in a swivel chair, idly thinking about Walter, his childhood, and the blond haired agent currently going over files in the lab office. She had sent Astrid to the Federal Building to retrieve all her files on Flight 627, and the labs her and Agent Scott had uncovered. She had them spread out on the large desk and was busy poring over them, tapping a pen against her lips has he watched her through the window.

Walter was running tests on the tissue sample he had taken from Agent Scott's body, and was looking at slides through an optical microscope that had been left in one of the cabinets. Astrid was assisting, with him explaining the uses of the various pieces of equipment. She seemed like a quick learner. He was developing a habit of forgetting her name, though. Peter had heard her correct Walter twice now already, and it had only been a few hours.

How Astrid had been able to secure a cow, and have it delivered by farmer to Harvard, of all places in less than a day, he could only guess at. She'd been gone when the cow arrived, so Olivia had to go sign for it, and escort it and the farmer, through the halls of the Kresge Building and into the basement lab. Olivia's face had been red tinted when she brought it in, much to his amusement. It was peaceful in here now, but the cow had caused quite the commotion when it had been brought in through the crowded halls.

He looked around the old lab, seeing nothing familiar, wondering if Walter had ever brought him here as a child. He certainly had no memory of it. Peter would have thought that in almost twenty years that Walter had been working in the lab before the fire, his mother or Walter would have brought him here at least once. Of course, there were a lot of things he didn't remember about his childhood. There were stretches of what seemed like years, mainly from the ages of seven to ten, though some before then, that he couldn't really recall anything clearly. He hadn't thought much of it, until just now, realizing the kind of work Walter did here, and seeing that the old man seemed to know what he was doing, at least so far. He remembered sleepwalking and having nightmares as a young boy, one in particular, where a faceless man would come into his room at night, and steal him away. He'd always woken up freezing cold from those, screaming. Until the day Walter had taught him his mantra. Then they had just stopped, until he'd grown up and left it all behind, left her behind. He swallowed the lump that was forming. He dreamed these days, but they were usually just of the normal variety.

Spinning around in the chair, Peter noticed that he could no longer see Olivia in the office. He'd been watching her, after their little tiff, he supposed one could call it. She'd started it, bringing up MIT like that, after all, he had just been answering _her_ question. Although, he did get some kind of perverse satisfaction in needling her afterwards. He could tell that when he'd stepped into her personal space it had made her uncomfortable, which he found amusing also. Still, he supposed she was having a hard time dealing with the fact that her lover, and clearly Agent Scott was her lover, was most likely going to die by having his flesh dissolve and fall off his bones. The pictures he'd glimpsed of the bodies from the airplane had been enough to make him not want to eat for a week.

Looking around, he got up and peeked inside, it was empty. Astrid noticed him looking, and tilted her head in the direction Agent Dunham had apparently gone. He'd observed that she had been drinking coffee from the machine Astrid had set up like water, she seemed to like it with one scoop of either cream or sugar. Maybe now was a good time to make a peace offering. He considered for a moment, then filled two cups, one with one scoop sugar, and the other just black, how he liked it, and went in search of her.

He found Olivia sitting on a bench under one of the archways, still reading a file. Her hair was up in a way he hadn't seen her wear it yet, exposing her slender neck. He jerked his eyes away as she started to look up at the sound of his footsteps.

Peter gave her a real smile as he approached, "Coffee?" offering her the cup with one sugar.

Olivia looked surprised, but pleased, "Sure, thanks," she said taking the cup.

He sat down on the bench at the far end, making sure not to intrude on her space. He watched her face closely as she took a sip. Her green eyes widened slightly and she glanced at him.

"How'd you know how I like my coffee?" she asked quizzically. She was watching his response just as close as he'd been watching hers, he noted. Judging the sincerity of his offering, if he had to take a guess.

"Well, you're not the only one with some skills." He replied with a grin. She gave a little laugh at this.

"Is that so?" Olivia replied in an amused voice. There was a little smile on her face. He thought she should do it more often.

"Indeed it is," he said nodding his head. "Comes in handy every now and then." He watched as she took another sip, her face growing somber again. Peter thought that it might do her some good to distract her from her thoughts of the man dying in the lab behind them, and he might learn something he'd been curious about in the process.

"So," he started, changing the subject. Her eyes met his, brows raised. "Tell me, this file you mentioned, what else did it say? About yours truly. How bad was it? I'm just curious to know." He finished with a relaxed grin, trying to put her at ease.

Olivia looked at him, eyes narrowed, "I'm not at liberty to discuss it." she said in that professional sounding voice he'd heard before.

Peter gave a grunt and laughed. _Like hell you aren't. _"Well, why don't you go ahead and liberate yourself, because I'm here now," he said, holding her gaze. "so, I kinda think I deserve the truth, don't you?" he said, looking at her expectantly.

She looked away from his scrutiny after a moment, looked anywhere but at him. He discerned a faint redness starting to appear on her cheeks. It was apparent that this topic was starting to make her uncomfortable, in fact, more uncomfortable than he'd ever seen her. _Is she blushing? Why would this embarrass her, unless... she... It couldn't be, could it?_ His thoughts were racing, incredulous. He stared at her with newfound respect.

"There was no file, was there." he stated in shock. He was replaying their meeting in the hotel lobby in his mind. He had been sure that she knew! It had been in eyes, her voice, none of the usual tells that would indicate that she was being anything but truthful.

"I needed you back here," She tried to explain, face still red. "and when you were walking away..." she trailed off, having the decency to at least look apologetic.

"So what was that?" Peter said bemused, "You were bluffing?" He couldn't believe it. There was a little voice in the back of his mind telling him that it had been _because_ of her eyes and voice that, he hadn't seen any tells. He pushed that way to the back, he was a professional, he should have known. One couldn't survive in his business long, without being able to read people well.

"I was desperate." She said simply, leaning on her hand, as if that explained how she had done it.

"Yeah, but, I'm pretty good at reading people," he said gesturing to himself, "it's sorta what I do."

"Yeah, I could see that you were in trouble, anyone could see that."

_No, _he thought, _Anyone could not see that._ But she had, somehow.

Peter thought again about their interaction in the hotel lobby. She'd approached him, told him her name, then… hit him with the fact that she was from the FBI. While he'd been reeling from that shock, she went into the second shock, which was about Flight 627, leaving him completely confused. Then to top that off, she had brought up his father, shock number three, which had brought out his anger, leading to emotional responses from that point on. When he had started to walk away, his emotions had still been clouding his judgment, which had lead to him overlooking the fact that, he really _hadn't_ done anything yet. And what would she have done, called Big Eddie up and told him where to find him? That was just plain ridiculous, thinking back now. He was impressed that she had come up with it impromptu.

"So I could have stayed. I could have stayed in Iraq." he said thinking aloud, rubbing his eyes. He looked her in the eyes, "It seems I am not the only one with some skills." He said to her in admiration. He thought she might've blushed at that, but couldn't be sure.

"You know, I heard a car bomb went off in Kirkuk, this morning." She said with mock sincerity. "You might just owe me a, 'thank you'."

"Yeah, well," he joked, "I owe a lot, what's one more thing."

"Yeah, I figured." Olivia said in serious tone. "Lemme guess, Mafia?" her voice so naïve and innocent sounding that he had to laugh.

"A guy named Big Eddie," he said looking at the amusement on her face, "and I swear I'm not making that up."

She laughed then, sending those little shockwaves though his synapses, much like first time he saw her, before all this madness. He realized then, that he'd never truly heard her laugh before. He'd thought he had, but she'd still been behind her Agent mask, right now, there was no mask, just Olivia.

"You owe money to a guy nick-named Big Eddie?" she was smiling widely now, lighting up her face.

"No, I owe money to guy _named _Big Eddie. He had it legally changed." he said meeting her smile with his own.

Her smile grew wider, delighted at his story.

"And the thing is, I'm not even a gambler...I mean, I never was... Peter suddenly found himself embarrassed under her gaze. "It's just...A couple of years ago I went a bit crazy." he finished lamely.

"I thought you were a genius, you must have had a system?" Olivia said curiously.

"Of course there was a system, the house was cheating." he said ruefully. "But you try telling them that." He smiled sadly and took a sip of his coffee, so he wouldn't have to see the pity, or disapproval, he was sure that must be on her face.

He could sense her studying him then, and he couldn't resist the urge to see what she was thinking. He turned and met her green eyes. They had speckles of gold around the pupil, he wasn't sure how he'd missed that before. She was looking at him speculatively, as if he were a puzzle she was trying to figure out. Their mutual appraisal lasted a few moments longer, until she looked away smiling.

A comfortable silence descended between them, each sipping their coffees. Such situations were rare for him, and he got the sense that it might be a rarity for her too, though for different reasons. The kind of people he had been associating with for the last few years, weren't really the kind to sit around enjoying one another's company, men or women. Olivia might be a tough FBI agent, but that probably came with constantly maintaining a barrier to distance herself from her cases, victims, and suspects, which could make it hard for her to let her hair down, once in a while, especially since she seemed like she might be a workaholic.

Peter finished his coffee and stood, feeling the need to stretch his legs. He'd always had problems staying in one place too long, whether in a room or a city. He thought he might go take a stroll around campus.

"Hey, I'm gonna go for a walk, stretch my legs," he told Olivia, nodding in the direction of the exit. "Wanna come?" He knew she wouldn't.

"No," she replied, without hesitation. "I'm gonna get back to it." He could see the Agent facade sliding back onto her face.

He nodded, and started towards the door.

"Hey, Peter?"

He heard Olivia call after him when he was almost out the door. Grabbing the door frame, he looked back at her questioningly.

"Thanks for the coffee." she told him with an unreadable expression on her face.

"Anytime, Olivia." Peter said warmly, finding himself meaning it, to his surprise. He turned and went out the door into the now silent hallways of the Kresge Building basement.

It was freezing outside, the wind biting at his cheeks as he walked through the quad. The Harvard campus was empty at this time of night, except for the occasional student, hurrying towards their destination. A part of Peter envied their carefree existence, as he passed by a young woman, no doubt making plans for the evening on her cell phone. He'd never gone to college, at least as a real student. He thought back to his time at MIT, it seemed like a thousand years ago right now. He'd had fun teaching the chemistry class he'd been given at the small community college he'd conned his way into. Of course, that hadn't stopped them from firing him on the spot once they'd figured it out.

A strong gust of wind kicked up, making him glad for the thick peacoat he was wearing. He'd made Olivia stop at the first suitable store he saw once they got back, so he would have something to wear in weather just like this nights. She had waited in the car while he had run in to find a coat. When he'd come out and hoped back in her car, she'd raised an eyebrow at his choice.

_"What?" He'd said to her, noticing the look on her face._

_"Really?" She replied with a smirk, gesturing between them at their similar coats._

_"You've got good taste." he said, and gave her a suggestive wink._

_The look she had given him then had been as cold as the weather outside. _

Peter had thought he had her figured out then. She was a humorless, frigid bitch, albeit a very attractive one, and he decided he was not going to make it easy for her. He could be pain the ass when he wanted to, and he was not going to take the uprooting of his life lying down.

But he knew now, that it had just been her Agent persona, distancing herself from an unknown, a possibly dangerous one. There may not have been a file per se, but he did have a criminal record, he'd been arrested more than once, and she no doubt knew that.

_She thinks I'm a criminal, _Peter realized, the thought making him sad for some reason. _Who am I kidding? I am a criminal. _He'd never really thought of himself as one though, the people he... worked with, weren't good people, most of them had been criminals themselves. He had never conned any civilians, as he had called normal people. _What about Ahmed's people? Were they criminals too? _He told himself that it had been a mistake, as he always did when thoughts of that particular disaster arose.

He needed to stop thinking, and why did he care what Agent Dunham thought of him anyway? As soon as Agent Scott died, Walter could go back to St. Claire's, and he could go back to his life. Maybe there was a chance he could salvage things in Baghdad.

Looking around, he realized he'd walked to MacArthur Square, all the way across campus. There was an ancient fenced in graveyard near the sidewalk behind the row of benches where he stood, getting his bearings. With no pedestrians or vehicles in any direction, the silence was surreal, almost crystalline. The puffs of his breath rising from his nostrils was the only movement. It was a moment of complete peace, rare in a city the size of Boston.

Suddenly, a loud _HONK! _from a street over shattered the moment. Sighing, not looking forward to the long walk in the bitter cold, he turned around, hands deep in the pockets of his coat and headed back.

.

They were standing near a table with several open boxes full of what looked like old file folders when he returned. Astrid was thumbing through one of them, with an amused look on her face. Walter was in the middle of recounting some story from his previous tenure in the lab. Olivia watched them both stoically, leaning against a nearby table. Peter grabbed a chair, sitting with feet up on a nearby table covered with old computer monitors. Olivia glanced in his direction, but said nothing in greeting. She seemed distracted.

"Peter, I was just telling Astro and Agent Dunham about some of the work we did here back in the seventies." Walter said.

"It's Astrid, Walter, and she is an agent too." Peter responded, clenching his jaw in annoyance.

"Of course." Walter giving him a disdainful glance. "As I was saying, in 1972, Belly had been sub-contracted to create a new class of dinner beverages, which would be multi-flavored, yet still contain a common element or taste. We were in competition with another lab in Brooklyn, and the bid winner was to be awarded a large fee for the formula which could then be patented." He giggled in remembrance.

"Belly's idea was to create a beverage in which the common element would be steak, and there would different flavors for the different cuts of meat, one for the ribeye, one for the sirloin, one for the strip, one for-"

Astrid, apparently realizing that he intended to recount every cut of meat, interrupted, "I get it Dr. Bishop. Did you win the contract? I don't think I've ever heard of drink like that."

"No, we were laughed out of the bidding. It turns out that steak flavored drinks are absolutely dreadful." he finished morosely.

Astrid let out a laugh in delight. "Who was the winner? Did their drink ever get made?"

"I believe it was some fruity drink, had a silly name like Snipple or Snapple or some such. It was really very drab. Not creative at all." Walter complained. He appeared to be offended by the thought of it.

Astrid chuckled and looked over at Olivia, who seemed unamused, "Agent Dunham, do you mind if I take off for the night? It's after one am."

Olivia blinked, coming back from wherever she'd been, "Sure Astrid, we'll see you early tomorrow." she said distractedly.

After Astrid left, Peter found the silence in the old lab unnerving. Olivia still appeared deep in thought, or maybe worry, he supposed. Walter was looking through the files Astrid had left on the table.

"Walter, what file are you looking for in that box?" he said, needing conversation, even if it meant with Walter.

"Files? Oh yes," he said with excitement. "it was the year that reminded me. I knew I had seen something similar to this before." He walked over to the microscope where he had been looking at slides from Agent Scott's flesh sample.

"Similar to what?" Peter questioned from where he was lounging. "Your steak drink? Which I might add, sounds like one of the worst ideas ever. So much for the great William Bell." He added, hoping to break Olivia's demeanor. She really needed to loosen up everyone once in a while, it had to be very tiring to maintain that icy calm almost all the damn time.

Her eyes shifted in his direction briefly, little dimples forming as she let out a little snort.

"You always were so quick to judge as boy, son." Walter said dolefully. He turned to Olivia, "He used to cry and get so upset whenever I made him try anything new. Why, he even vomited the first time he tried mashed potatoes. Whoever heard of such a thing?" he whispered conspiratorially to her.

Peter could feel his face growing hot, which of course Olivia noticed with a laugh at his expense._ Damn it Walter, you never fail. Every time._

"Walter, I have no memory of that." he said quickly, hoping to change the subject. "What did the year remind you of? Does it have something to do with Agent Scott's condition?"

"Not directly," Walter replied, "it was back in '72, during the Vietnam War. The DOD's Biochem Division had us working on a protocontagion for possible use against the Vietcong."

"Dr. Bishop, are you saying that our own government is behind this?" Olivia said, perking up at Walter's words.

"No, though it's possible that whatever was used on the plane could have been derived from that work." he negated. "We had a lot of different lab assistants back then. Anyone one of them could have gotten hold of our research." he said with distaste. "It could have been leaked from the DOD. They had a lot political hirings and firings, it was the Nixon era, after all." his tone now laced with disgust.

From the way Walter was wringing his hands together, Peter could tell he was about to go off on a diatribe about how much he hated Nixon. "Walter, right now we just need to worry about the contagion itself, not about who made it." he said smoothly, trying to focus him. "We can talk about how much you suffered under the Nixon years, after you've seen to Agent Scott's condition." Peter added, hoping it would mollify him.

"Yes, yes, of course." he responded, picking up file folder and looking through his findings.

Olivia looked over at him gratefully, having successfully deflected Walter's mania. "Dr. Bishop, what about John? Have you learned anything about his condition?" she asked, her face hopeful.

Peter could see how much she wanted good news from his father. He shook his head sadly, wishing he had as much confidence in Walter as she apparently did.

"What's affecting him, is merely a chemical reaction to the raw laboratory ingredients." he said, walking over to her and tossing the file in her direction onto the table. "It's not the finished contagion, which means that we can synthesize a counter-agent." he finished, pulling off his latex gloves, and resting his hands on the table.

"So you can help him?" Olivia said, voice rising.

Peter could see her green eyes widen in anticipation, could hear the excitement on her voice. He just couldn't believe it, there was no way Walter could do it. There was no coming back from the condition Agent Scott's body was in. The guy was fucking see-through for crying out loud. He had to be the voice of reason here. Olivia sure as hell wasn't capable of it right now.

"Don't do that," he said sharply, "don't give her false hope, she doesn't deserve that."

Olivia shifted her glance to him for a moment, eyes narrowed, then back to his father, who responded.

"It's not false. It's not false, it's real, Peter." he said, keeping his eyes on Olivia. "I could help, yes. If I had a precise inventory of what was in that lab when it detonated."

"We don't have it," Olivia despaired, "it all went up with the lab. Everything." She swallowed heavily before continuing, "And the suspect who might have given us that information got away, and John was the only one who saw his face. So how long does he have left?" She said, eyes boring into Walter.

"At the current rate of crystallization, cellular degradation-"

"How long?" Olivia interrupted desperately.

"Twenty four hours." Walter replied regretfully.

Olivia turned away, head lowered. Peter saw the hope die on her face. It was like watching one of those time elapsed videos of a flower blooming, only in reverse.

I'm so sorry," Walter continued, "that I can't offer you a less dangerous solution." He finished, looking at Olivia expectantly.

"What do you mean?" she said softly, turning to him.

"Didn't I mention it?" he replied, confused.

"Whatever you think you said, you didn't say." Peter spoke up, tired of Walter's shtick.

"Synaptic transfer system, a shared dream state." he explained. "I had thought to offer it you as a way to say goodbye to your lover, as without the inventory, I would not have been able to help him."

"What do you mean by, a shared dream state?" Olivia asked him, watching him closely. Her face was flushed from Walter's comment.

Peter couldn't wait to hear the explanation for this, they were heading off the reservation._ A shared dream state? Maybe he watched _Dreamscape _to many times in St. Claire's. _

"The human brain generates a quantifiable electric field." Walter grew passionate as he explained. "I posited in 1976 that is was possible to synchronize the fields of two distinct minds, to allow the sharing of information across the unconscious state, like a string between tin cans."

_Jesus, it's worse than I thought,_ Peter said to himself. "You know what's great about that, is that it's completely insane." he said sarcastically, looking over at Olivia, expecting her to agree.

She met his eye for a moment before looking back at Walter. "So you're saying that I can talk to John, while he's in a coma?"

There was something in her voice Peter didn't like at all. Walter was nodding back at her.

"And then he can tell me what the suspect looks like?" she said slowly.

"Well, it's not an exact science." Walter admitted to her.

"It's not even science!" Peter exclaimed. She was considering it, he could tell, as she looked back and forth between him and Walter.

"Have you done this before?" Olivia asked, ignoring the look Peter was giving her. She was looking at Walter intently, urging him on.

Peter sat there, dumbfounded, as Walter continued to explain his procedure to Olivia. She was hanging on his every word, falling for his insane ramblings hook, line, and sinker. He'd thought she was a fairly intelligent woman, yet somehow she'd overlooked the fact that Walter was insane, certifiable. He admitted that Walter was extremely intelligent, but there was a reason that he'd been locked up. There's a fine line between genius and insanity, and Walter had crossed that line, blown way past it from the gibberish he spouting off right now.

"I have used this technique to extract information from a corpse once." Walter recounted. "You can do that if they haven't been dead for longer than six hours."

"Right, cause after six hours, that's when they're really dead." Peter scorned. He caught Olivia's eye, imploring her, "Olivia, c'mon, you can't honestly tell me that you-"

"We could access his memories?" she interrupted quizzically. "See what he saw?"

Walter's head was bobbing in affirmative excitedly. "Yes, yes, assuming that there is no brain damage." He started to move away from her before turning back with a start, "Of...of course, you'd have to have an electronic probe place in the base of your skull, while immersed without clothes, in the old tank." he said, gesturing with his wrinkled hands in the direction of the metal monstrosity near the back of the lab. "Oh, and you'd be heavily drugged." he added as an afterthought.

Olivia stared at him for a moment before responding, "What sort of drugs?" she said warily.

"A mix of ketamine, neurontin, and my personal favorite, lysergic acid diethylamide." Walter replied.

Peter decided that enough was enough, jumping up, hand raised to get Olivia's attention. "That last one was LSD, by the way. You know, acid?" He said walking over to the both of them.

Walter went on as is Peter hadn't spoken,"It would take at least a few hours to synthesize, I could use your help if you don't mind." he said looking at Peter expectantly.

_Help him make acid? How the hell can this be happening? I feel like I'm the one that's crazy here,_ Peter was thinking furiously to himself. "Yeah sure, that sounds like fun." he said mockingly Walter. Turning to Olivia, "The man who was just released from a mental hospital, he wants to give you a drug overdose, and put you naked into a rusty tank full of water." He bent down to her height, staring into her eyes, trying to gage her response.

"No, I don't want to. Really, I'd rather not." Walter implored, defending himself. "I'm just saying, that I can." he said reasonably, long back and forth between the two of them.

Olivia seemed torn and uncertain, a look he hadn't seen on her before. Peter could see that she was desperate, but surely she could see that this was a terrible idea. Was she ready to die for this Agent Scott? He didn't think he could just stand by and let her do that to herself. He wasn't sure why he cared, after all, she had blackmailed him into coming back here, had cost him at least half a million dollars.

"Okay, Olivia can I talk to you for a sec?" he grabbed her arm and guided her away from Walter. She stared down at his hand where he was touching her, and he let go, sensing her discomfort." Olivia, you're obviously under severe duress, you haven't slept since Iraq, and the man you care about might die, but I am telling you that man will kill you." he said, his volume increasing as he spoke.

"You don't understand the procedure, Peter!" Walter interjected from where was standing.

Peter ignored him for the moment before continuing, "Olivia, I can't sit back and watch him kill you, or turn you into a vegetable at the least." He spoke earnestly, hoping to get through to her. "Not when I can stop it." he added, staring into her eyes.

Her eye narrowed questioningly at this. "What do you mean? Do I have to remind you that impeding a federal investigation is-" She was standing up very straight, voice imperious.

"Cut the crap," Peter interrupted her. "you may have blackmailed me into coming back here, but I am still Walter's legal guardian. If I let him do this, and something happens to you, then it's on me. I don't need that hanging over me. I've got enough problems, without having your death on my hands, and whatever the FBI would have to say about that."

He had tried to sound compassionate, but it wasn't a tone he was all that familiar with, so he wasn't sure if he pulled it off or not. She knew what he had said made sense though, he would probably get in serious trouble if something did happen to her, he could see it in the way her she squeezed her eyes closed in denial, lips pursed.

"John would do it for me... Peter, please..." she said softly, opening her eyes and staring deep into his, begging him to help her.

_Ahh, fuck, _he thought to himself. He found that as much as he might regret it later, he couldn't refuse her, not her begging him again. There was something about the way she was looking at him, that he... just... couldn't.

Sighing, he looked away and squeezed his own eyes shut. When he looked back she still had her gaze locked on him. _How is it that she keeps doing this to me? When did I become that guy?_ This was getting out of hand. As soon as they did what they could for Agent Scott, he had to get the hell out of here, before she could become even more of a bad influence on him. A little voice in the back of his mind wondered why he was so eager to get back to his old life. Hadn't he been thinking about getting out? He crushed the voice, ruthlessly, _Getting out to become Walter's babysitter isn't exactly what I had in mind._

He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat and gave her nod. "Okay." he said simply, avoiding her eyes.

"Thank you." A mona lisa smile forming on her lips that he saw out of the corner of his eye.

They locked gazes then, and Peter tried not to ogle her too much._ Jesus_. He had to swallow again before adding in a snarky tone, "But if something happens, can I tell the FBI that you held me at gunpoint?" he smiled at his own joke, breaking the tension.

She laughed, like crystal ringing in the air. He had to turn away from the sound, running his hands through his dark hair. This was going to end badly.

Olivia turned to Walter, "Dr. Bishop set it up. I'll get DHS's authorization to bring John here."

Peter couldn't resist one more harpoon thrown in her direction. "For the record Olivia, I think this is unbelievable, and, I think you might be insane, following him is insane. For the record." He gave her grin to let her know the barbs were nerf tipped.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, but said nothing in return. He got the feeling that was the look she gave when she wasn't sure what an appropriate response was.

"Excellent!" Walter exclaimed."Let's make some LSD!" he pumped his hands in the air, like a pitcher who'd just closed out the ninth inning.

By the time Peter and Walter finished the batch of LSD Walter thought they would need, it was past three in the morning. He was tired, hungry, and still in daze at everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. Olivia had dropped the two of them off at a hotel the FBI had procured for them for the night. She had been on the phone with someone named Broyles for the majority of the ride, he assumed it was her boss by how she referred to him as 'Sir.' He noticed she neglected to tell him the real reason she needed John Scott brought to the lab, but decided not to question her on it. They had ended the night on good terms, and he didn't feel like rocking the boat too much more, for the moment at least. He thought there might be much potential for butting heads with Agent Dunham in the future.

After grabbing some ice and snacks from the vending room at the end of their hallway Peter started the long trek back to their room. Walter had been complaining that he wanted candy, specifically, Red Vines and a Whatchamacallit. He'd been unable to find either, he hoped a Milky Way and a bag of chips would suffice, the machine had been mostly empty.

As he neared their door he could hear Walter's voice as he sang the lyrics to Violet Sedan Chair's, _She's doing fine_, in a surprisingly good voice. He'd forgotten Walter's love for the band. Shaking his head, he opened the door and went in.

He stopped in shock at the sight of Walter's naked body as he waltzed around the room. "Walter! What the hell are you doing?" He yelled, averting his eyes. He was going to be scarred for life. "Where are your clothes?" he said mournfully, rubbing his temples with one hand, moving further into the room, careful to avoid touching Walter in any way. He threw the candy bar and chips down on the coffee table, the rooms largest surface.

Walter, having resumed his waltz, looked over his shoulder at Peter. "I'm celebrating. I haven't had a night outside of St. Claire's in over seventeen years." He strutted around the small dining table near one side of the room. "Did you know that in Japan, that when celebrating at a _Hadaka Matsuri_, it is customary to be nude, or at least in a loin cloth? I find it invigorating." he finished excitedly.

Sighing, Peter said in a resigned voice, "That's great Walter, I'm so glad I came back for this." He threw himself down on the couch and grabbed the remote. Flipping the tv on, he flicked through the channels, before stopping on an episode of NOVA on the PBS channel. He had loved that show in his youth. "They didn't have the candy you wanted, so I got you these." He gestured toward the coffee table where he'd thrown them.

Walter stopped at the coffee table, looking down in disapproval. "A Milky Way? What a waste of perfectly good candy bar." he said disdainfully.

"What's wrong with it? It's just a candy bar, chocolate, caramel, nougat." he said absently. He wasn't paying Walter too much attention, what with him swinging in his face and all.

"What's wrong with it? Son, what's wrong with it, is that it's missing a crucial ingredient, the illustrious peanut." He said in an outraged tone. He grabbed the candy bar and the chips off the table and stalked towards the bathroom. "I'll be in here."

Peter ignored him, focusing on the NOVA episode, as well as he could at least. He was exhausted and jet lagged, hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours. He could feel a weight on his eyelids, trying to drag them down.

Olivia had said that she would be picking them up early tomorrow, but hadn't specified how early it would be. She seemed like she might be a morning person though, so he thought it might be sooner than later. He shook his head. The woman was perplexing, she seemed so straight-laced and reserved, and at the same time would show flashes of humor akin to his own, and clearly had no problems misleading her boss to suit her own ends. He shook his head again to clear his thoughts. He needed to stop thinking about her, and start figuring out what his plans would be once Walter inevitably failed, hopefully without killing or permanently maiming her.

His eyelids began to close again of their own volition, Peter struggled to keep them open, wanting to wait for Walter to finish in the bathroom. He could hear him in there, still singing...singing...his eyes shut.

.

.

.

.

.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

.

**-The Courtyard Hotel**

**Peter **was dreaming.

___He found himself running through a heavy snow. It pulled at his ankles as he tried to rush through the trees. There was a stillness to the forest, the kind one can only experience in a snowstorm. He tripped over a log buried in the shin deep powder, catching himself on his hands. The snow stung his hands, pinpricks biting into his palms, as he pulled himself up. He had to get up, he had to run. They would try to stop him. Peter regained his feet, ran deeper into the forest. He dodged through the trees, ducking under branches and between evergreens. One large branch dropped a clump that fell on his head, depositing snow and ice down the back of his shirt. He felt the cold wind shearing through his jacket. It was so cold, so cold, he had to get home. He had to get back to his home._

_Suddenly, Peter burst through a tree line, and found himself falling down an embankment. He rolled to a stop at the bottom before sitting up and looking around. He was at the edge of a lake that was frozen over. He recognized where he was now. He could his family's lake house on the far shore. He'd almost made it. Voices began shouting his name over the wind from the direction he'd come from. He struggled up and made his way out onto the ice. The voices were getting closer, though he couldn't look back, couldn't bear to see them. He was almost half way across when he heard it._

_SNAP!_

_Then another._

_SNAP!_

_Peter felt a wave of terror run through him as he realized what was about to happen. Crying now, he kept moving forward, hoping he could just make it a little farther, past this thin spot in the ice. He thought he'd made it, when he suddenly found himself crashing through the ice into freezing water below. He tried to scream, but there was no sound, as if time had stopped. Then he felt his teeth fall out, and he plunged below the surface, choking on the frigid water. His mind was blank as he watched the ice close over him._

_THUMP!_

_THUMP!_

_He looked up and saw his mother's face. She was pounding on the ice, screaming his name, as he slowly sank into the murky depths._

_PETER!_

_PETER!_

_THUMP!_

_Thump._

_"Peter!"_

The voice repeated.

"Peter! Wake up son."

Walter's voice.

Knock. Knock.

Peter opened his eyes.

Walter was standing over him, shaking him.

Peter looked around, trying to trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Then it all came back.

Iraq. Olivia. Walter.

He heard the knocking sound again.

"I think there's someone at the door son." Walter said, still shaking him.

The knocking was growing louder, more insistent.

He sat up, eyes wide. "I'm up Walter." He said, yawning. Getting up, he moved to the door and looked through the peephole. It was Agent Dunham. _Who else would it be, genius_, he thought sourly to himself.

He opened the door. She was wearing dark blue jacket, zipped up over a dark shirt and sweatpants. Her blond hair was loose over her shoulders. She looked delectable out of her pant suit. He had to forcibly stop his eyes from giving her another once over. "Morning, Agent Dunham." He said brightly. "What can we do for you?"

From the look on her face, he knew she'd caught him checking her out again. He couldn't help it, he was a straight, red blooded male, it was instinct.

"We need to get to the lab, the DHS is having John transferred there in about an hour." She said, ignoring his appraisal.

"We just woke up. Any chance we can get a bite to eat first?" He ran his hands through his hair, trying to flatten his bed head. His stomach rumbled aggressively.

"Speak for yourself, son," Walter said from behind him. "I have been awake for hours, while you were thrashing around on the couch. You weren't having a sex dream, were you?" He said suggestively.

Peter closed his eyes tightly for a moment, embarrassed. "Thanks for that Walter." He muttered under his breath. Olivia had an amused look in her green eyes.

"What? It's perfectly natural reaction to having been in Agent Dunham's presence, for a prolonged period of time." Walter said as he collected his coat.

"Jesus, Walter!" Peter groaned. "Can you just stop talking, like right now?" He looked at Olivia, who looked completely mortified, face scarlet. "I'm sorry, I wasn't...I didn't...not that you...-" he stuttered, looking anywhere but at her. His face felt like it was burning.

"Can we go?" she said, looking at her feet.

"Yep." he said, turning away from her, and back into the hotel room.

Peter grabbed his coat and threw it on, herding Walter out the door.

.

They stopping for coffee and bagels at a shop near MIT that Peter remembered from his time there, and then made their way to the Harvard lab. Agent Farnsworth had arrived first, and setup several new workstations around the lab to replace the outdated computers that had been left from Walter's original tenure, much to his delight.

Walter went about preparing several syringes that apparently were to be used in the...procedure, which Peter was still feeling extremely uneasy about. Olivia still seemed determined to go through with it, standing silently off to one side of the lab, watching Walter make his preparations. He was muttering to himself as he went through the cabinets and boxes, sometimes bringing exclamations of joy at seeing an object that he'd missed while in St. Claire's. Walter had hidden pieces of equipment all throughout the lab, with no rhyme or reason that Peter could make out.

After sending Agent Farnsworth out to buy several large bags of rock salt, which were to be used to raise the density of water in the tank, Walter continued searching cabinets around the lab manically, before finding what he was looking for with a shout.

It was a black, rectangular device, with a several wire harnesses coming out the sides and a pair of short metal probes on one of the flat sides. They looked wickedly sharp, and Peter realized that this was the thing that Walter said was to be inserted into the base of Olivia's skull. It looked like some kind of torture device, used electrocute a prisoner into submission. Glancing over at her, he realized she had come to a similar conclusion. Her face had gone pale, and she was staring at it, eyes wide. Peter didn't blame her for being freaked out by it, the thing looked evil.

Peter moved closer to her, trying to determine if she was having second thoughts. "Olivia, are you sure about this?" He said to her in a low voice.

She met his eyes, looking desperate. She was about to answer when the door opened, admitting the medical personnel transferring Agent Scott to the lab. Olivia's eyes lingered on his for a moment, before she turned to meet the gurney carrying Agent Scott. The paramedics seemed confused by the dark confines of the lab, looking around uneasily, and giving each other nervous looks. One of them was carrying a clipboard full of papers, which he handed to Olivia.

She signed the release forms, and led the paramedics down the ramp, to the area Walter directed them. John Scott was in a clear plastic, mobile isolation chamber that had a vital signs monitor attached to one side.

Peter could see that Agent Scott's condition had taken a turn for the worse since he'd seen him in the isolation ward yesterday. His flesh was noticeably clearer than it had been, the dark red and black patches on his skin were mostly gone, now windows to his internal organs. He saw Olivia's lips tremble as she observed this also.

After the paramedics removed Agent Scott from the isolation chamber and left the lab, Walter began to attach a number of electrodes to various places on his body, in preparation for the procedure. Putting one on each temple, more on his chest, and working his way down the agents body.

When Astrid returned, Peter decided to make himself useful, and help her with the bags of salt she'd purchased. He left Olivia, standing by John Scott's side, with a determined look on her face.

On his way back with the rock salt, he ran into Agent Francis, walking quickly down the hallway towards the lab. Noticing Peter behind, he waited outside the door for him to catch up.

"Bishop." He said in greeting.

"Agent Francis." Peter replied, voice strained from his load. He dropped it at his feet, getting the hint that the agent wanted to talk.

"How is she doing?" He said without preamble, his voice was gruff, but Peter could hear a note of concern in it.

"Assuming you're talking about Agent Dunham, she seems like she's holding it together. I don't think she'd talk to me about it anyways, so I can't say for sure." He replied truthfully.

There must have been something in his tone that Agent Francis didn't like. "You're not being difficult are you?" He said, narrowing his eyes.

There was something in his voice, it gave Peter an over-protective, older brother kind of vibe. "Considering she blackmailed me into coming back here, I think I've been a picture of cooperation." He said defensively.

Agent Francis didn't appear to appreciate his response. "Bishop, she's going through a lot right now, and she doesn't need you-"

Not wanting to get completely on the agents bad side, Peter interrupted, "Look, I may have been a bit difficult when I first got here, but for the record, since then I've been trying not to rock the boat too much. I figure the faster we figure this out, the faster I can get out of here." He bent down to retrieve his load. Hoisting it over his shoulder, he nodded towards the door. "Can you get that?"

Agent Francis opened the door wordlessly, and followed him inside. He carried salt over to the tank and dropped it unceremoniously on to the floor next to the tank.

Astrid turned from her task of shoveling the salt from the bags and into the tank water, "This is gonna make her float!" she said, voice sounding excited at the prospect.

Peter wished he could feel as relaxed about the whole thing as she appeared to be. "That's the theory, at least. About the only part of this that is. Theory, I mean." he added.

Astrid met his eyes at this. He could see now that her previous joviality was a cover for the deep uneasiness that she was now displaying. He shrugged, not knowing what to say. He'd already tried to dissuade Olivia from doing this and failed. If Astrid wanted to have a go she was welcome to it, he wasn't going to stop her. Maybe she would be immune to Agent Dunham's powers of persuasion, because he sure as hell wasn't. He'd failed that test at every turn so far, he thought bitterly. Seeing Olivia notice Agent Francis' arrival, he left Astrid's side and wandered over to a lab table, where he could inconspicuously watch the two them of them speak.

Olivia met Agent Francis on the ramp down into lab. She was carrying a white, fluffy robe that was folded up in her hands. He looked at it curiously before she spoke. "Hey Charlie! Did you get me a meeting with William Bell?" she asked him in a rush.

Charlie shook his head, "Liv, Massive Dynamic isn't being exactly forthcoming or courteous. And apparently, William Bell is out of the country for the next two weeks." He handed her a slip of paper.

"What's this?" Olivia asked, taking the paper from him. Peter watched her eyes scan the page, a frown appearing on her face.

"A sweet little memo from their General Council."

"So Bell doesn't want to talk?" she asked, her voice growing tense.

Charlie shook his head, "Or he's just being the head of a fifty billion dollar corporation."

"Screw that!" Olivia said angrily. "I want to drive a tank through William Bell's office, and find out what he knows."

Peter smiled to himself at that. She could be very tenacious when she wanted to be, as he knew first hand.

"I know you do, Liv. That's why I'm here to tell you the bad news." Charlie said calmly. "It's going to be another forty eight hours before we can get a court order."

Walter, having finished his preparation of Agent Scott, walked over to the two of them. "You'd better strip down to your underwear." He told Olivia. He gave Agent Francis a curious look, "Hello." He said in a dismissive voice after a moment, before continuing over to Gene's stall.

Agent Francis stared at Olivia with a confused face. "What the hell was that?"

"Charlie, we don't have twenty four hours." Olivia said as if he hadn't spoken. "I need you to get to Bell. If Dr. Bishop fails, Bell might be the only one who can save John."

Peter had to hide a smile at the look on Charlie's face as he looked around the lab, taking everything in.

"Olivia, what's happening here?" Charlie asked, clearly not liking the scene in front of him. "You've cleared all this with Broyles?" He gestured with both hands spread wide at the chaos of the lab.

"Somewhat." she said weakly.

"Somewhat doesn't sound good." He had a doubtful look on his face, concern was written across his brow.

The cow chose that moment to let out a moo as Walter threw some hay into its stall.

"Is that a cow?" he said, taken aback by the cow staring out into the lab from its stall.

Peter had to look away, lest he laugh out loud, which he didn't think Olivia would appreciate. He could identify with Agent Francis' incredulity at the strangeness of this situation.

"Yeah, that's Gene." Olivia said absently.

Walter had insisted on naming the cow upon its arrival. After much debate, mostly between him and Astrid, they decided on 'Gene'. Whether it was short for genome or genetics, or maybe Walter just liked the name Peter wasn't sure, at the time he'd been sulking, refusing to participate in any of it.

"Listen Charlie," she went on earnestly, "I...I need you to promise me you'll do whatever you can."

"Liv, of course. You know that." Charlie replied honestly. He looked around the lab again before continuing in a serious voice, "Hey, you be careful here." He gave her a meaningful look.

She nodded, and went in to the office to get ready for Walter's procedure.

Charlie watched the shut office door, then walked closer to John's body and stared down at him, disturbed by what he saw. "My God." he said to himself.

Peter knew the feeling.

Charlie glanced over at him questioningly, as if asking Peter if this was for real. He shrugged his shoulders in response to the silent question.

Charlie slowly shook his head, then turned and walked out of the lab, pulling out his cell phone on the way.

Peter watched as Walter and Astrid went about the final preparations, connecting the new computer systems to the equipment Walter needed monitored. Walter filled the syringes with the drugs he would need to administer for the procedure. He couldn't get the thought out of his mind that this was a bad idea. A vision of Olivia's face, slack from having her brain lobotomized, ran through his head. Maybe he could still convince her to see reason, that this was a crazy risk to take on the word of a madman. She wouldn't listen though, he knew that instinctively. In her mind, she had the power to save him, and regardless of what happened to her, she was going to do it. Peter was in wonder at Olivia's selflessness, the lengths she would go to for someone she loved. He'd never felt that way about anyone before, would go to that length for anyone. Maybe his mother, he supposed, thinking back to the dream he woke up from this morning.

He hadn't had a dream like that in years, since before Walter had left. As similar dreams had before, it had left him with a vague sense of recognition. He wasn't sure of what, nothing like that had ever happened to him, that he could recall. He supposed they were all based on the car crash he remembered Walter telling him about, that had happened when he was a boy. His mom hadn't been there for it, he was sure of that. Not that he could remember it. It was funny how time could wipe some of even the most traumatic of memories away, and leave others untouched. He shivered, crossing his arms and hugging himself. He felt chilly just remembering thinking about the dream, being around Walter again must have triggered it. _That's wonderful, _he thought,_ one more thing to look forward to._

He was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of the office door opening. Agent Dunham stepped out covered in the white robe she'd been carrying earlier. It was cinched tight at her narrow waist by matching white belt, with her bare feet left uncovered. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in golden waves. He forced himself to keep his eyes on her face, not wanting to appear obsessed with her. _Which I'm not,_ he told himself. _I just don't want to make her uncomfortable, any more than I already do._

Walter began to describe the procedure to Olivia, detailing how they would start by having electrodes attached to her body, in the same fashion as Agent Scott.

"Dr. Bishop, what exactly are these for?" she asked nervously.

"The electrodes are merely monitoring your vital signs, and giving us real time data on them as they fluctuate during the procedure as we try to match your brain's electric field to that of Agent Scott's." Walter explained. "This," he said, holding up the probe, "is what we will use to make adjustments to the field. It might help to think of it like a spark plug, like the ones used in your car. Instead of sparking only when the cylinder is filled with gasoline, we will energize it at varying frequencies and amplitudes as we try shift your brains field enough for you to make contact with Agent Scott. The metal probes are inserted on either side of the brain stem, where it meets the cerebellum, and when the device is energized, a charge will grow between the two probes, allowing us to regulate your brain's electric field." He finished with a flourish, clearly enjoying playing the instructor again.

"What kind of amps are we talking about here Walter?" Peter inquired, picturing Olivia's lobotomized face again.

Walter turned to face him, looking disgruntled at his questioning. Olivia just looked grateful that someone there could understand what Walter was saying. He may not be able to say no to her, but he wasn't going to let her do this, until he knew more of the fine details.

"I just want to make sure you're not going to lobotomize her, or fry her brain Walter! Stop being so defensive." Peter said to him, not backing down.

"Fine," he replied aristocratically, "the range we will be using will start at around fifty micro-amps and go up to around five milliamps at upper end. Of course, the device is capable of delivering over twenty full amps, but that would a bit extreme for our purposes." Finished explain himself, he left Peter and Olivia, and joined Astrid as she was fitting an EEG amplifier over Agent Scott's scalp.

_A bit extreme? _Peter wondered why he'd built the device with such a high upper end, but decided he probably was better off not thinking too deeply about it, or it might encourage more nightmares. The ranges Walter had told him were in theory, not too dangerous, as long as this didn't last for hours. He noticed Olivia watching him expectantly, wanting know what he thought of what Walter had said.

He met her eyes, "Four milliamps is probably ok, as long as this doesn't take all day." He said, trying to reassure her. "I read about an experiment funded by DARPA in 2006, where they used a similar amperage on subjects, to try and increase learning potential in soldiers." He gave her a wide smile, showing his teeth, "It's amazing what you can pick up reading books." He snickered, drawing an amused smile and an eye-roll from her.

"2006?" Walter huffed from over by Agent Scott's gurney. "Why, Belly and I were working on that very thing in this lab, back in 1974. The procedure worked, as long as the current was being constantly applied, but it led to hallucinations in the test subjects, so we abandoned it until another method could be found." There was some swagger in his tone that Peter found amusing.

"What about the drugs, Walter. How do they fit into this?" Peter called over to Walter from where he was standing next to Olivia.

He looked from what he was working on, "Well, the ketamine and neurontin will put her in a mild analgesic state, at the same time insuring that she doesn't seize when we try to adjust her brain's electrical field."

"And the LSD, Walter? What aren't you telling me?"

He could see Walter's annoyance at his continued line of questioning.

"Must you keep doubting me every step of the way, Peter?" Walter sighed. "Do you believe that I would harm her on purpose?"

"I'm just watching out for her Walter." Peter said, seeing Olivia frown at his protectiveness out of the corner of his eye. "I'd like to think you wouldn't, but you can't tell me that there are no risks being taken here."

"You're right," Walter said finally, looking at him imperiously. "There are risks, of course there are risks. There are always risks when you are pushing the boundaries of known science. There would be no progress if no one ever took any risks."

If he was trying to reassure Peter with that speech, he had another thing coming. "We're not talking about sending men to the moon, Walter. Just tell me… us," he added, looking over at Olivia, who had narrowed her eyes in disapproval, "what kind of risks we're talking about here. And about the LSD." She was still giving him that look. "What?" he said, knowing what she was going to say.

"I don't need you to look out for me, Peter. I've been taking care of myself for a long time." she said forcefully. "Now can we just get on with this? We don't know how much longer John has. You promised you'd help me." Her voice was pleading now, using that irresistible tone again.

Technically, he hadn't promised anything, but he knew she would do it, regardless of what Walter said, so he gave up. He was beginning to suspect that she knew exactly what effect that tone of voice had, on him at least. "Fine, sweetheart. You win." he sighed. He leaned close to her, "But if you come out of this with brain damage, I'm not going to be the one changing your diaper." he said with a half-smile on his face.

Surprisingly, she laughed at his temerity, "Don't worry, I wouldn't expect _you_ to. The FBI's got good insurance."

Walter rejoined them, carrying a handful of electrodes, the wires dragging along the floor behind him. "If you two are finished flirting, I would like to start the procedure." He declared, looking back and forth between them. Peter could see Astrid behind him, covering a smile with her hand.

Olivia rolled her eyes and shook her head at Walter, but didn't blush at least. He thought she might be getting used to Walter's shenanigans.

Walter thrust the electrodes into Peter's hands. "These will need to be attached to Agent Dunham, on each of her temples, on her chest, arms and legs. Use this." He handed Peter a bottle of conductive paste.

They followed Walter over to the metal tank. Peter took a close look at the thing for the first time. It had two large metal doors on the angled side, and he noticed an old note taped to one of them, with a warning of watching out for pinched fingers. There were metal studs on the back of it, that Astrid was busy attaching wires to. He stuck his head inside, saw a small camera that she had installed so they could observe Olivia from one the workstations.

Pulling his head out of the tank, Peter turned and set the electrodes down on a nearby table, so he start the process of attaching them to Olivia. He turned around in time to see her drop the robe she'd been wearing and throw it onto a nearby bench. He paused for a moment, in shock at what he was seeing.

She was wearing a pair of black bikini panties, and a matching black bra, both of which were going to haunt his dreams for the foreseeable future. Her skin was the same pale, creamy white that he'd seen only a hint of through her unbuttoned blouse previously. She had long legs that just went on forever and ever, and her chest was… _Oh my god, _he thought furiously,_ Stay calm Bishop, it's not like it's the first time you've ever seen a woman undressed before! Stop staring you fool!_

He jerked his eyes over her head to Gene in her stall, hoping his eyes weren't bugging out of his head. He thought his shock had lasted less than a second, hoped it had at least, it was hard to tell. He swallowed heavily, and approached her, not quite meeting her eye. She had a determined look on her face, as if daring him to comment. Peter didn't, wasn't sure he could even speak right now it he wanted to.

He started attaching the electrodes on her stomach, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to try and calm down. After almost letting out a gasp when his hand brushed her bare side, he got a hold of himself, and settled into his task. _You jackass! _He berated himself._ You think she's doing to his for your enjoyment? You're a grown man, not a fucking fifteen year old boy!_ He mentally smacked himself upside the head for his own stupidity.

While he was attaching the electrodes, Walter came over to administer the first of the drugs. He held the syringe up to the light and flicked it several times to get the air bubbles out.

Peter decided to give her one last out, before it was too late. "You know, I still think that this is deeply irresponsible, and believe me, I would know." He met her eyes, which at this point, were the only safe place left to look at her.

She didn't respond, just gave him a little smile, typical for her, and winced as Walter stuck the syringe into her neck, making her grimace, and tense up as he depressed the plunger.

"This is an anesthetic," Walter explained, "If you feel normal, it's working."

"Yeah, because bootlegging smack in the basement, is just the picture of normalcy." Peter quipped trying to lighten the situation for himself, as much as for Olivia. She looked nervous, and he didn't blame her for being that way in the slightest. Considering how uncomfortable this was making him, she had to be terrified.

Walter grabbed the probe device from the table pulled Olivia's hair to the side, giving him clear view of the back of her head. "This may sting a bit." He said softly, as if trying not to frighten her. He set the device on her neck, and after a moment of making adjustments to get the correct location, pressed a lever on the side, plunging the two probes into her neck on either side of her spine.

"Aahhhh!" Olivia gasped in pain. She fell forwards into Peter's arms, grasping at him to keep herself from falling. She clutched at his shoulders to steady herself, and her head came to a rest on his left shoulder, her hair in his face.

Peter had instinctively grabbed her around the waist when she started to fall, and now found himself almost in an embrace with her, while she was gasping at the pain in her neck. "I've got you, I've got you." he said quietly. He was adamant that he wasn't going to act like a fool here, no matter that her hair smelled like lavender and jasmine, and that her skin was like silk under his palms. He tried to focus on something else to distract him from the feel of her, but found it impossible. The moment seemed to stretch out, like the flow of time was developing elasticity, before suddenly snapping back into real-time, and he became aware of his surroundings again. Walter was holding up another syringe, tapping the air out. Astrid was collecting the ends of the electrode cables plugging them into a nearby vitals machine that would output them onto one of the workstation monitors.

After a few moments, Olivia's grip on him eased up and he let her go carefully, making sure she was okay to stand on her own. He helped her over to a table which she leaned against, face still twisted from the pain in her neck. She was breathing hard, as if coming down from a long sprint. She watched Walter, as he opened both doors on the tank, in preparation for her entrance.

Peter crouched down in front of her, grabbing the remaining electrodes that needed to be attached. As he gently went about adhering them, she locked her eyes on his. "You okay?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as sincere as possible.

Olivia nodded affirmative, keeping her gaze on his. She seemed to be studying him again, as if he were a puzzle that needed figuring out.

"I hope your guy is this worth all this." He said seriously, making his last pitch, at the same time reminding himself that however much he might find her attractive, she was doing all this for the man she loved, and that was the only reason he was even there. Whether or not they saved Agent Scott was almost irrelevant to him, he would be done here either way, free to go back to his life. He really did hope that it worked though, and they could save him, mainly because he thought Olivia was good person, and after going through all this, she would deserve it. Then she would be out of his life, which was probably for the best, for her sake. Women he was acquainted with had a habit of getting hurt. Thinking of the Mina, and what happened with Ahmed, he grimaced, shaking his head slightly.

Olivia saw his expression change and looked him questioningly, "What is it?"

"It's nothing. We're all done." He said, bringing a false smile to his face, and standing up, finished with the electrodes. She still maintained her study of him, and he got the sense the she wasn't buying it, but said nothing in dispute.

Walter approached with the final syringe in one hand and some rubber tubing in the other. He handed Peter the tubing, indicating that he needed a tourniquet on her arm before he could inject her.

Peter complied wordlessly, wrapping the tubing around Olivia's left arm and cinching it tight.

"What's in that?" He nodded at the syringe as Walter prepared to inject her with it.

"This," Walter replied, his voice intense, "is what will rip open her consciousness, allowing her psyche to accept the connection to Agent Scott." He inserted the needle into a vein at the inside of her elbow, and Peter watched as the contents were swept into her bloodstream.

Walter removed the needle, and applied pressure with a gauze pad, before taping a bandage in place.

_Nothing like getting into a rusty, metal tank of water, while having open wounds. I hope her tetanus shots are up to date, _Peter thought grimly, as Olivia started to sway slightly as the dose of acid started affecting her. He helped Walter guide her over to the tank, holding her arm as she tested the water inside. He heard her sharp intake of breath at the feel of the chilly water on her toes. She slowly lowered herself into the water with their help, a few more gasps at the chill. Peter made sure that none of the electrode wires snagged on anything while doing so. He could see that Olivia's eyes were wide, pupils starting to dilate from the effects of the LSD. Her eyes locked on his for a final time, before he stepped back, allowing Walter to close the doors.

Before doing so, Walter stared in at her for a moment before speaking. "Listen to me Olivia, in case you don't come back, I just wanted to say before we do this… how much I appreciate what you've done. There are so many things you lose in a place like that. You lose being trusted, it's strange how important that is when it's gone. Good luck." He swung the doors shut, and walked up the steps to the platform where the monitors were set up.

Peter joined Astrid on the raised platform, watching as Walter walked around to the various stations and equipment, checking on Olivia's progress. He seemed to notice Astrid, leaning against the railing, watching him and looked at her curiously.

"Hello dear!" Walter said happily. "If you want to watch, you can come closer. Do you work here?" he asked interestedly.

Astrid looked amused as she answered. "Yes, Dr. Bishop, I'm Astrid Farnsworth?" she prodded, seeing if he remembered her. When there was no sign of recognition on Walters face, she went on. "Agent Dunham's assistant?"

"Who?" Walter asked, looking around, confused.

She pointed to the monitor, which showed the camera feed of Olivia. She looked peaceful, as he watched her a little smile formed on her lips.

"Oh yes, I'm Dr. Walter…" He started, then stopped, a vacant expression on his face.

"Bishop," Peter informed him, "Walter Bishop."

"Yes, yes. Thank you, Peter." He motioned for her to follow him, and made his way to where the EEG machine was printing its readout. "These are her brain rhythms." He pointed to the scrolling paper, where the print needles fluctuated in time with Olivia's brain waves. "They're much more important than most people know, regarding cerebral regional interaction. Absolutely critical."

He walked her over to another printout, showing another set of wavy, fluctuating readings. "These are his. As the drugs begin to take effect, the probes in her neck will synchronize her brain's electrical field with that of Agent Scott's, allowing them to connect. The brain is like an electrical router, and one brain should be able to interpret signals created by another."

Peter shook his head, he couldn't believe he let her talk him into this. "Yeah sure, it's simple. Like making toffee." He said to himself, as Walter was ignoring him.

Walter continued, "And when the rhythms are in sync, the two of them should be in the same place, metaphorically speaking, of course." He crossed his hands over his chest, and stared at readings intently.

"So what do we do now?" Peter asked, starting to feel impatient.

"Now we wait." Walter replied cryptically.

"Wait for what?"

"For whatever happens, son. It's not an exact science, I've told you that already." Walter said, twiddling his fingers as he stared back and forth between the two printouts, waiting for whatever sign he was looking for.

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	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

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**-inside the tank**

**Olivia** was feeling uneasy as she floated on her back in the chilly water of the tank. Walter had just shut the metal doors, with Peter watching her closely, leaving her bathed in blackness. The salt had added a buoyancy to the water, that she didn't think she'd ever experienced before, not even when she visited the ocean, back when she was a girl in Jacksonville. It was a very strange feeling, almost like floating in syrup, without the thick, sticky mess. The probes in her neck ached faintly, but not enough for her to be too focused on them. In fact, her whole body was beginning to feel a bit strange, sort of absent, but not completely, yet. She supposed it was the effect of whatever drugs Walter had given her. She realized she'd starting referring to him as Walter instead of Dr. Bishop. It was kind of hard to maintain a completely professional attitude with him, when he'd just seen her wearing practically nothing, and had just dosed her with illegal drugs.

With nothing to do but wait, she thought about everything that had happened in the last few days. It had been a whirlwind, her mind was still processing it all, from John's declaration, to the plane, and his subsequent injury, and then on to Peter and Walter Bishop. Her mind lingered on Peter, thinking about what an enigma the man was.

Her first impression of him had been that he was a cold, self-centered jerk, with an extremely irritating attitude. From the way he'd walked away from her in the hotel in Baghdad, she'd figured he was just another morally bankrupt criminal, he'd have to be, to just turn his back on her while she begged him to help her save a man's life. What other kind of person would do that? But since they'd got back to Boston, his angry demeanor had slowly thawed to reveal someone she could actually see herself becoming friends with, under other circumstances. He was extremely intelligent, which she'd already known from his file, but it was not always apparent, because he hid behind a veil of sarcasm and crude humor. She thought that with the kind of life she suspected he'd been living over there, being open and honest, were probably not the best traits to have on display. Which made her wonder why he had been there in the first place, why put himself in that position at all? Peter was smart enough that he could probably do any occupation he wanted, given the chance.

Olivia had been surprised when he'd brought her a cup of coffee after their exchange about MIT, and with close to the right amount of cream that she preferred, no less. He must have been observing her closely to pick up on that. She had suspected the coffee was his way apologizing, or making a peace offering at least. Then he'd actually made her truly laugh, for what seemed the first time in days, with the funny stories of his past. It had felt good at the time, distracting her from the horror her life had become. Since then, he'd been surprisingly pleasant to be around, amusing her with his antics, and she hadn't even been bothered when he'd called her sweetheart again, although he was starting to display a protective streak towards her, that she was beginning to find a little unsettling. Mainly, because it had caught her completely off guard, coming from him. She _had_ blackmailed him after all. She wasn't sure what it meant. The way he'd held her moments ago had been very sweet and comforting, although she'd been able to tell that her lack of clothing had flustered him. The thought made her smile. She thought that he might be harboring a little crush on her, which might explain the protectiveness. That was a complication she did not need or want right now though, however sweet it might be. Besides, she was sure he knew about her and John, anyways.

Even Peter's interactions with Walter had softened, the harshness that was originally there between them was mostly gone, though not completely. Olivia guessed that something had happened between them long ago, something to do with his mother, that had caused his hatred of his father, but right now, he seemed to be looking past it. Regardless of what happened with John, she thought she might miss him a little bit, when he exited her life in a few days, after this was over. He'd probably go back to whatever he had going on in Iraq, and that would be the end of it. She reminded herself to ask him why he called Walter, Walter, if she got the chance.

Olivia noticed that she was starting to feel extremely drowsy. She wasn't sure how much time had passed since she'd entered the tank. How long had Walter said it would take for the connection to happen? She couldn't remember, was having problems focusing on anything.

Her body felt almost entirely absent now, the probe in her neck the only thing she could feel, and there was no more pain from it. Occasionally, she felt little jolts run through her mind, or her body, she wasn't sure which, she couldn't tell a difference at this point. She was no longer sure if she was awake or asleep, whether her eyes were open or closed. Her mind felt like it was beginning separate from her body. Suddenly, Olivia was floating in a black void, with no points of reference to tell her up from down, or herself from anything else. She was in all places at once and nowhere at all. She was a paradox, a contradiction of senses. She tried to scream but she had no mouth, there was no air, there was only the void, it was everything and nothing, it was _her_.

_This can't be right! Somethings gone wrong! _Her mind was shrieking at the nothingness. She felt something crack, like the sound of an egg falling off a counter onto the floor, and thought it might be her sanity.

Then there was a sensation of falling, or maybe it was sliding, Olivia couldn't be sure, towards a _beacon?_ that she could hear/see/feel in the nothingness. Her senses had become confused or merged, like synesthesia. She felt/saw her mind meet a…resistance in the void, like water flowing through a creek bed and running into a dam, slowly rising around it. Except the dam was not a dam, it was another..._entity?_ Olivia tried to make sense of what she was seeing/feeling, pushed harder against the pressure pushing against her. After what seemed like hours, or maybe it was mere seconds, the pressure suddenly collapsed in on itself, and she found herself falling into it, like light into a black hole. She tried to pull back, but there was no back, there was only forward, it was as inevitable as gravity. She felt flashes of light run through her, heard the spark they created. She could feel her mind begin to take on the _shape?_ of the _entity_ as she moved closer it, until she was about to crash into its surface, only to find it was like a mirror. As she touched it, she realized it wasn't a mirror at all, it had only seemed that way because she was its reflection, they were the same. Olivia passed through it, and at the same time felt it pass through her. They merged, and became one.

Olivia opened her eyes. It was only after doing so, did she realize she had eyes, and a body again. She looked at her hands in relief. Then another realization hit her, she was not in the tank. She was not wet. Why was she wearing this dress? She recognized it as one that she'd bought recently, to surprise John with, but hadn't worn it yet.

"Hello? I think I'm here!" she called out. Could Walter hear her? "I'm here!" she said loudly.

There was no response.

Looking around, she found herself in what appeared to be a junkyard, old cars piled high around her. She could hear a grinding noise, coming from an indeterminate direction. She heard something behind her, turning quickly, she just missed whatever it was.

"John?" Olivia said, looking around. She heard what sounded like static, it seemed to come from everywhere. She thought there might be voices in it, but couldn't quite be sure.

There was a flash and she noticed motion above her head. Looking up, she a kayak float over her, the word ZENO, was written across the stern. _I think that's my uncle's kayak, _she thought. She looked away for a moment, and when she looked back it was gone.

There was another flash, and she found herself in a child's bedroom, one she didn't recognize.

Another flash, and she was in a graveyard, it was dark, and there were tombstones all around her. They went as far as her eyes could see. She felts something moved past her from behind. Spinning around, she saw nothing. There were flashes of color coming from nowhere.

"John? Is that you?"

_Olivia?_

She heard her name, the sound was faint, like sound traveling though water.

"John!" she shouted, hoping it was him she had heard.

* * *

**Peter** watched Walter, watching the vital sign monitors. He was eating a sandwich, greedily taking huge bites at a time. Astrid noticed this too and looked at him curiously.

"Slow down Walter, no one is going to take it from you." he called over to him from his place overlooking the tank.

Walter looked apologetic, and eyed him as he took another bit. "Sorry, it was a habit I picked up from my time in that place. There was limited time for-"

He was interrupted by a flurry of activity from Olivia's vitals machine that lasted for a moment, then stopped as sudden as it started.

"What was that?" Peter said, hurrying over to Walter's side.

Olivia still looked peaceful on the camera feed. Her face twitched occasionally in a way Peter didn't care for. Her lips began to move, he thought she might trying to say something. Then she did.

"_Hello? I think I'm here. I'm here."_

Peter heard Olivia's voice through the feed, speaking very softly, like she was talking in her sleep.

Walter looked over their EEG's, comparing the two. "Look, look, look," he said excited, caught up in the moment. "They're almost in sync.

"_John?"_

"_John!" _

Peter was sure that last was not a question, it sounded like she had been calling out to someone. He was beginning to think that as insane as it seemed, Walter's procedure might have actually worked. And if it worked, what about all the other pseudo-scientific research he was supposed to have done. Could that have been real too? The thought was disturbing on multiple levels. The main one being, was his father actually insane? Or had he been committed due the conviction with which he must have defended his actions, sounding completely insane to someone on the outside. The average psychiatrist was not equipped to deal with the impossible, not even an average scientist was. His father must have sounded batshit crazy, and so of course they would have put him away. No reputable scientist would have backed him up. The realization left him feeling conflicted. He needed to know more, but now was not the time.

There were more spikes of activity from the vitals machine, and this time they did not stop, but continued, unabated.

"What's happening?" he said to Walter, "Is this normal?"

"She's fine." Walter said, smiling.

"You're sure about that?" Peter asked emphatically. A vision of the blond agent, green eyes vacant, laying on a gurney, went through his head.

"Look," Walter said, pointing to a monitor showing two waves, moving in synchrony. "they're together."

Olivia began to speak.

* * *

**Olivia** found herself in a vast desert, mountains ringed the horizon. Dark clouds hung low overhead, occasionally flashing with lighting, thunder crashing quietly in the distance. She spun slowly in a circle, taking in her surroundings. When she completed the spin, she saw John standing directly in front of her.

"I was just thinking about you." he said from where he was standing.

He was wearing a dark suit, with navy colored shirt and tie. Not his standard FBI uniform. More like something he would have worn on a date. With her. His face was clean cut, as always, hair perfectly arranged. He had always been a bit vain about his appearance, but she had never minded too much. Apparently, that held even in his subconscious.

They moved towards each other, her bare feet feeling the smooth checkerboard tile that she hadn't noticed until now. In the center of the tile was a large FBI insignia, it had been inset into the tile. Olivia knew that they would meet on top of it, which they did.

Olivia went willingly into his arms, loving the feel of them around her again. She had her hands on his chest, feeling the fabric of his suit under her fingertips. Moving closer, she brought her hands up his cheeks and their lips came together in a gentle kiss. His lips were just like she remembered, making her toes want to curl. She wanted to stay this way forever, but she knew When the kiss ended, she stayed in close, relishing the feel of his skin under her fingers and against her nose. Eventually, she pulled away and looked into his eyes.

"John, you were hurt." She said sadly, her voice breaking.

He looked confused, "I don't remember that. Where are we? How did we get here?" John was speaking slowly, with a cadence that she'd never heard from him before.

Olivia wasn't sure how long this would last, so she decided just get on with, no matter how painful it was. "I need you think about something. The storage units we went to together." She said, feeling tears want to form in her eyes.

"I feel cold. What happened?" he spoke again in that strange cadence.

"I need you to remember." Her voice started growing desperate. It seemed to get through to him.

"Remember what?"

"The storage units. The suspect you were chasing. I need you to show him to me. I need to see his face." Olivia could that what she was saying was getting through to him, though he still looked confused.

"Why?"

"So I can save you." She could feel the tears now, making a path down her cheek. "Please try. Please try and remember."

He looked sad, but nodded at her and closed his eyes. Lines formed on his forehead as he concentrated.

What Olivia experienced next was almost the strangest things she'd ever felt. It would have been _the_ strangest thing, if not for the out of body experience she'd just had prior to this, as it took the cake. She felt something flow into her mind, like particles of sand through an hourglass, only they were images. It was like remembering a scene in her favorite movie, one that she had memorized the lines to.

She recognized the storage facility, the darkness, and snow falling.

_John watched Olivia's hair swirl in the wind as she pulled her phone out to call for the chem-transport team._

"_Damn, no signal" she said, and walked past him towards the entrance to the unit. _

_She had the phone up to her ear when she turned the corner, leaving his sight. He turned back to the lab, looked through some of the boxes stacked on a table. There was nothing of interest in them, nothing he could understand at least. With nothing more he could really do here until the chem-transport team arrived, he headed back out into the frigid air to check out some of the other nearby units._

_The next one down in the row was another lab, similar to the first. He went in and looked around, trying to see if there were any obvious differences between the labs they'd found so far. More caged animals, and computer displays, and equipment he couldn't discern the use of. As he headed back to the entrance, the garage door of the unit across the way opened._

_There was a man at the entrance staring in surprise at him. Both of them froze for a moment before John's training kicked in._

"_Freeze!" He yelled, pulling out his pistol._

_The man turned and sprinted down the row of units, towards the rear of the facility. John started to follow, but slipped on a patch of ice, giving the man a momentary head start. When he regained his feet, he took off after him, pulling his cell phone out with his other hand as he ran. He hit the quick dial for Olivia's phone and waited for her to answer._

"_John?" Her voice came through the phone when she picked up._

"_We have a runner at the back!" he huffed as he sprinted around a corner, just catching sight of the suspect as turned the next one. "We need him alive!"_

"_I'm on my way!" he heard her say breathlessly. He could tell she was already running._

_Putting his phone, away he concentrated on gaining ground on the suspect. He increased his pace, flying around a corner, which led to a long row of units. He saw the suspect ahead of him, trying to reach a dark colored van parked nearby. He realized they were in the same row of units as the labs._

"_I have a gun!" he shouted. "I will shoot!"_

_The man stopped, looking back at him. He had his hands together in front him, like he was holding something._

_John approached him, gun aimed at his head. "Hands in the air!"_

_The man turned around, with what looked like a cell phone in his raised hand._

_John could hear Olivia approaching from behind. He was about to say something, when he saw the man push a button the phone._

_There was a flash of light and heat…._

The vision or memory or whatever it was ended, with Olivia gasping. The man, she'd seen his face in the memory!

She looked around her, seeing John was no longer there. "John!" she shouted. Had something happened to him? She felt panic start to creep in, realizing she didn't know how to get out of this…state, she was in.

"Walter!" she yelled, hoping that they could hear her somehow. "Get me out of here!"

* * *

**Peter** heard Olivia's scream from inside the tank. He could see her thrashing around inside of it on the video feed. "What do we do Walter?" he blurted, looking over at his father.

"Get her out." he replied as he started hitting switches, shutting down the equipment. "Astro, you grab something to wrap her in, she's going to be chilled."

Peter rushed down the steps to the tank and threw both doors back. She was still thrashing, when he reached in and grabbed her under her arms, and hauled her out. Walter was right, she was cold, freezing in fact. He sat back on the floor, pulling her head onto his lap. Astrid had grabbed the white robe she's been wearing earlier, and was attempting to get it under her.

"Olivia!" he leaned over her, trying to get her to snap out of it. She continued to struggle, trying to break free of the grip he had on her.

"Olivia!" he repeated, putting his hand on her cheek. Her eyes snapped open, looked around desperately. Then they locked on him and she let out a deep breath. He removed his hand and grabbed at the robe, trying to help Astrid.

"Peter." She exhaled, and closed her eyes in relief.

"You're back." He said, feeling a smile form on his face.

"You're late, Agent Dunham." Walter said, kneeling before her. "I expected you back at least fifteen minutes ago."

She sat up suddenly, and grabbed Walter's arm, "I saw him! I talked to John, he was there!" she gasped, still shivering.

Peter pulled the robe up around her shoulders. He didn't think she was even aware she was still shivering.

"He showed me the suspects face! I remember it. I was there, I swear." Olivia was almost frantic in her need to get through to them. "I have to get back to the Federal Building. I need access to the facial recognition software we have there." She tried to get up, but ended up falling back in Peter's lap.

Peter got himself out from under her, grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet, not letting go until he was sure she wouldn't fall again. When she seemed steady, he guided her to the office so she could put on some dry clothes. She nodded her thanks, and went in to change.

He looked around the lab, at Agent Scott, at Walter, shaking his head. It had worked. Walter's crazy, insane procedure had worked.

Peter walked over to his father, and watched as went about writing in a large notebook that he must have found in the lab somewhere. "What are you writing Walter?" he asked in a not unkind voice.

His father looked up at him, "Peter! I was just recording my thoughts on our experience with the tank today." He smiled happily at Peter. "You know, for posterity's sake."

He let out a little laugh at this, "Well, I'm gonna go grab something to eat. You want anything?" he offered.

Walter stood up quickly, slamming his notebook shut. "Food? Can we get a milkshake? There used to be this wonderful shop nearby, Toscanini's in Cambridge! They had the best strawberry milkshakes in Boston. Can we go there, son? Please?"

Peter was familiar with the place, thought it was still there, though they would need a cab to get there from here. He considered Walter's excited face for a moment before giving in. It did sound good. "Sure thing, Walter. We'll need to catch a cab though, so lets go."

He looked over at Astrid whom he knew had been paying attention to what they'd been saying from her workstation. "Hey Astrid, we're gonna go get some ice cream. Can you tell Olivia we'll be right back when she comes out?"

Astrid cocked an eyebrow at him as she regarded him. "Will do." she said finally, shaking her head in amusement.

* * *

**Olivia** leaned against the office desk, trying to calm herself, still reeling from the ordeal she'd just gone through. She had actually spoken to John, he'd been there with her while she was in the tank. It was just...unbelievable. _How am I going to explain this to Charlie? Or Broyles?_ She was pretty sure evidence obtained while in a shared dream state, wasn't admissible in a court of law. Olivia fought the urge to giggle at the thought of trying to explain that to a judge.

Grabbing her clothes, she threw them on over her wet bra and underwear, and covered her t-shirt up with her blue jacket. She didn't want to give Peter any more of a show than she already had. Waking up with her head in his lap, and seeing the concern written on his face above hers had been unexpected. Olivia thought he might have had his hand on her cheek, but it had been gone when she opened her eyes. _Yes_, she thought, remembering thinking of him while in the tank, _I think I might actually miss him when this is over._

Olivia ran her hands through her wet hair, trying to make herself halfway presentable, before grabbing her things, and heading back out into the lab. She found Astrid working at one of the counters on her computer, typing something. Of Peter and Walter, there was no sign.

"Where'd Peter go?" She asked Astrid, who looked up from her workstation, with a surprised look on her face. "and Walter." She added, after realizing what she'd said.

Astrid eyed her for a moment before replying. "Peter took his father to get a strawberry shake, from someplace nearby campus. They should be back soon." There must have been something on Olivia's face, that drew her to add, "Why, do you need them for something? I can try to track them down if you'd like."

Oddly, Olivia felt some slight disappointment at hearing this, "No, thats ok, I was just curious." She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. "I...I'm gonna run home and change, then head to the Federal Building. I'll keep you updated."

The junior agent nodded, and turned back to her monitor.

Olivia stopped at John's gurney on her way out. She stood next to him looking down as his ruined chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. There vitals machine next to him gave off a red flash at a steady rate in the corner of her vision. She wanted to reach out to him, grab his hand, tell him she was going to do it, that they were almost there. No tears fell though, she made sure of it. Now was not the time for that. Trailing her hand along the edge of gurney, she walked by him, and out of the lab to her car.

Olivia's apartment felt like it had been unoccupied for years when she'd walked inside, looking around. There was a stained wine glass on her coffee table, from when she'd been talking on the phone with Rachel earlier in the week, before her life had been turned upside-down. A vase of lilies were wilting on her kitchen table. John had surprised her with them on a recent date. Olivia stared at the drooping flowers, feeling her throat tighten painfully as she reached out and pulled one of the petals off and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. It left a vague wetness behind as she pressed it tightly, before it finally dissolved between her fingers. The constriction in her throat relaxed slightly, and she made her way through her living room towards the french doors of her bedroom.

She tried to stay absolutely quiet as she walked, trying not to break the utter silence. It was something she'd done since she was a kid, trying to avoid her stepfather's attention when he was in a rage. Olivia remembered slowly, ever so slowly, sneaking behind his recliner in their family room, praying to God that he wouldn't hear her go by. She'd learned early on that drawing his attention when he'd come home smelling like alcohol was a bad idea. She found herself doing it now in times of high stress, be it at home, or at work trying to leave no footstep audible as she walked the halls of the Federal Building.

Her bedroom was as she remembered, red and orange quilt-coverlet was neatly across the bed. The last time she'd been in here, everything had been normal. Hurrying, she got out of her clothes and jumped in the shower.

Olivia turned the heat up, almost to the point of scalding, before closing her eyes she stepped quickly under the spray. The heat made her gasp in a pain, but she stayed under, waiting for her body to adjust. When it finally did, she stood in the heat, letting it wash everything away, leaving her wide awake and whole again. Keeping her eyes closed as the steaming water sprayed her full in the face, she thought of her experience in the tank. The strange out-of-body thing she'd had before she'd connected with John. What the hell was that? What did it mean? She remembered thinking that her mind had broken at one point. It had changed her somehow, challenged the way she believed the world to work, and won. Olivia wasn't sure how to come back to where she'd been after that. Wasn't sure if she could at all, and didn't know if she wanted to. She suspected that there was a whole other world out there, just below her field of view, the world of Walter Bishop, and the one glance she'd had of it, had scared the shit out of her. Though, at the same time, it gave her some comfort, that impossible things could actually happen sometimes.

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	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

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**-Federal Building, Boston**

**Olivia** walked into a flurry of activity at the Federal Building. It was almost just as she'd left it less than forty eight hours ago, with agents on the phones still conducting interviews, and following up on leads that had been called in. Others were still working on the video feeds from the Hamburg Airport. It was almost all the same, except for her.

She looked at the world differently since she'd been here last. All the people in here, none of them, even Charlie, had seen the things she had seen and experienced in the last two days. It made her feel like an outsider, like they were all innocents somehow. And it wasn't like she could explain it to them either, the last thing she needed was psych eval on her record. Olivia pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind with determination. She could dwell on her changing world outlook when John's life wasn't hanging by a thread. Right now, she just needed to focus.

Olivia spied Agent Broyles speaking on his phone, with his back to her, looking out the window while he talked. She didn't really want to deal with him right now, so she snuck past him, through the chaotic mass of agents, to the workstations with the facial recognition software.

She had had called Charlie on her way in, informing him that she had a lead on the guy from the storage unit labs, and needed time with the facial software. When he'd asked how she had come by it, she had brushed him off telling him he was better off not knowing. He had acquiesced, but it wouldn't last forever. He was going to insist on knowing where the lead came from eventually. Charlie was her friend, one of the few she still had, so she thought she might be able to tell him, but now wasn't the time.

Life as an FBI agent had killed off almost all the friendships she'd had from college, between being on call practically twenty four hours a day, and the looks some of them had given her when they'd found out she was an agent, like she'd had a deadly disease. Olivia thought of her ex-roommate Beth, one of the few she still kept in contact with from Northwestern. She had left Olivia a few messages recently, wanting to find some time to get together. She made a mental note to return the calls after this was over.

Keeping her eye on Broyles, Olivia sat down at a free terminal, and logged herself in. She pulled up the facial software and began to build the man's face from the memory she'd seen of John's. The man's eyes had been wide set, and there had been a slight upturn to his nose. She tapped the keyboard, making adjustments to his cheekbones. Cycling through the various hair styles, she selected one that looked similar to the man's wavy brown hair and applied it to the face. It still wasn't quite right, but she was getting closer.

She felt someone sit down next to her and glanced over to see Charlie's serious face. "Hey Charlie, what's up?" She said, continuing to fine tune the image.

"So what's this about you being able to ID the perp from the storage facilities? I didn't think you got a good look at his face." he asked her from his perch on the edge of the desk.

Olivia considered what to say for a moment, she really hated lying. "Well, I may have seen him after all." She said diplomatically, keeping her eyes on the monitor. She almost had it, maybe a touch more along the eyebrows, she tapped a key, increasing the depth of the eyes. There, that was it. It was him, or as close as she could get.

"What do you mean you may have seen him? You mind telling me where?" There was confusion in his voice, along with a hint of worry. "My memory might not be as good as yours Liv, but I definitely remember your report stating that you were unable to identify the suspect."

Olivia sighed, "I told you not to ask me that Charlie." She sat back and looked up at him. "It's complicated. I promise when this is over, I'll tell you all about it and Dr. Bishop. But right now, this is him." She indicated the image on the screen, "That's the guy we're looking for. He looks like this."

Charlie looked at the face on the screen, and after a moment, he nodded his head. "Okay." He turned to the female agent at a terminal behind him. "Let's get this image in the system. This is our guy."

"Send it to my station, I'll put it through the database." the woman replied.

Olivia thought her name might be Theresa. She had seen her around the office before, but had never really been introduced.

Olivia transferred the file over, and watched as the program started comparing the image to those in the database. Images flickered by faster than the eye could follow, and trying to do so began to make her head hurt.

Rubbing her temples, Olivia looked away from the screen, trying to fight off the fatigue she could feel beginning to overwhelm her. She needed some coffee, she decided.

"Have you slept at all Liv?" Charlie asked her as they waited, concern evident in his voice until he added, "You look like crap." He was smiling now.

Olivia shot him an evil glare before replying, "Gee, thanks Charlie, you know exactly what a girl wants to hear. Your wife must love you very much." She kept her glare on him, until she couldn't hold it anymore, and she shook her head, smiling at him fondly. Charlie was one of a kind. He'd been watching out for her since the day she'd met him.

"There are no primary matches for criminal record." The agent said when the search was complete.

_That can't be right, _Olivia thought._ I saw him there._ He had to be in the system somewhere. The guy was a mass murderer, which wasn't something someone decides to do on whim.

"Cross check all state drivers license files with the image and send it to all local hospitals too." she instructed her.

"Agent Dunham! Come take a look at this."

Olivia looked over at one of the junior agents who had been going through the passenger list from the flight. He was holding a file in her direction, indicating it was the object of his exclamation. She went over to retrieve it, with Charlie in tow.

When she opened the file, she saw the face of the man from John's memory looking up at her. She stared for a moment, shocked at the sight.

The junior agent continued, "His name was Morgan Stieg. He was a passenger on Flight 627."

"I don't understand, how could he be a passenger?" She looked at Charlie, who took the file from her.

He looked at the photo, then flipped through the file quickly, looking for something. After a moment, he found what was he was looking for. She watched his eyes scan the page, before meeting her eyes.

"Liv, you're not going to believe this, but this is your guy."

"My guy?"

"Yeah, the one from the plane, insulin pen, briefcase, you remember? Looks like he was involved after all." He showed her the forensic reports on the insulin pen and the briefcase that had been inconclusive. "I don't see how he could have been at the storage facility though." He said, scratching the back of his neck. He was studying her, no doubt wondering about her lead she'd refused to tell him the source of.

"But I saw him there Charlie..." Olivia trailed off then, confused at the predicament this left them in. Clearly, the man couldn't have been in two places at once, especially when he was dead. She leafed through the file, trying to put the puzzle together in her mind, there was something obvious she was missing, she could feel it.

"Can you double check that this photo of Stieg matches the one he has on file for his driver's license?" She asked the agent who had given her the file.

"What are you thinking, Liv?" Charlie asked.

"Do we even know for sure that the body on the plane was his? Maybe somebody was using his identity." She replied, still not sure what her intuition was telling her.

She had seen the man at storage facility, or John had at least, and yet he was also on the plane, according to his passport photo. Logically, someone involved with the contagion had to have been using his identity, and it was their body on the plane, or...

The junior agent, Theresa, broke her train of thoughts with an excited gasp. "Hold on guys! You're not going to believe this! Morgan Stieg's emergency contact was his brother, Richard Stieg." She handed Olivia a photo, showing the same face from John's memory, also the same as his brother's.

The puzzle pieces clicked into place, forming the complete picture in her mind. _Of course_, she thought. _It all makes sense now. _"You're telling me that Richard Stieg, is Morgan Stieg's twin brother?"

The junior agent nodded. Olivia looked at Charlie, "What do you think?"

"I think that makes a whole lot more sense than a dead guy being in two places at once. What do we know about Richard Stieg?" He asked Theresa.

"Not a whole lot." She replied. "He had no current home address listed with the IRS. But there is a history of employment." She gave him a printout, showing the relevant information.

Charlie looked it over before handing it to Olivia. "Take a look at this, Liv." He pointed out one of the employers.

Olivia looked at what he was pointing to and exhaled. "Massive Dynamic? That can't be a coincidence, Charlie." She quickly looked over the rest of the file, memorizing any pertinent information.

He caught her eyes, reading her face. "I know what you're thinking Liv, you can't just-"

"I am, Charlie." Olivia cut in. "I'll let you fill in Broyles. Good work agents." she said to the others.

Grabbing her coat and keys, she rushed towards the exit, noticing Broyles watching her from the corner of her eye, but ignored him. He would stop her if he knew what she was planning. He could reprimand her later.

.

The hour long flight from Boston to New York was uneventful, with the typical crowded airports making it take at least an hour longer than it should have. She had phoned Agent Farnsworth from a cab on her way through the city, briefing her on the latest developments concerning the Stieg brothers and to see if there had been any changes to John's condition, which there hadn't been.

"So I'm on my way to Massive Dynamic, to see if I can get some information on Stieg. What are the Bishops up to?" She was curious to see how the father and son were getting along.

Astrid laughed as she replied, "Walter found an old tv he had stashed in one of his storage closets. Right now he's searching for a cable to hook it up. The man is really strange, Agent Dunham, I don't think I've ever met anyone like him." Olivia could tell she was smiling.

"What about Peter? Are the two of them getting along ok?" Part of her still felt guilty for dragging Peter back here, and she wanted to make sure that he wasn't miserable being stuck there with Walter.

Astrid laughed again, "When they got back from getting their shakes, Peter dragged two chairs together and passed out on them in the office. He's been there ever since. It looks really uncomfortable."

Olivia smiled, picturing Peter slouched between two chairs, possibly drooling on himself. It made her want to giggle, imagining the sarcastic man waking up and finding his shirt soaked and neck with a crick in it. He would probably be grumpy, and she was glad she wasn't there to hear it. Looking out the window, she noticed the Massive Dynamic building looming ahead of them.

"Hey Astrid, I'm pulling up to Massive Dynamic now, I'll get in touch with you later, hopefully after I've interviewed Bell." She said, ending the conversation and snapping the phone shut.

The Massive Dynamic Building was an intimidating structure that had dominated the New York skyline since the fall of the Twin Towers in 2001. She'd never been here before, she generally avoided New York in general if possible. It was always too crowded, too loud, and no place to park. Not that Boston much better, but it was her home at least. Still, she found herself in New York often enough due to her job, and she had no problems navigating the city. The cab pulled over at the main entrance. Olivia paid her tab, and got out, looking up at the dizzying height of the building. She hoped her answers were in there.

The lobby of the Massive Dynamic building was a huge open space, with high vaulted ceilings, and irregular shaped columns set at odd angles, with the Massive Dynamic slogan and other advertisements being projected onto the white walls, in a never-ending stream, racing around the perimeter of the space. They certainly did seem to do everything, judging by the sheer amount of technologies she observed floating by without repeats. The floor was a polished gray tile, with a large desk set at one corner of the room.

She made her way to the receptionist's desk. It was being manned by a woman in a tight black blouse, with a matching skirt. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, with dark lipstick accentuating her pale features, giving her a rather aristocratic look. She had headset over one ear, and sat in front of a large console, like a high-tech switchboard operator.

Pulling out her badge, she held it up before the woman. "Hi, I'm Agent Olivia Dunham, FBI. I would like to speak to William Bell, if possible."

If the woman was surprised, she hid it well, she merely raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow in question. "Do you have an appointment?" Her tone was bright and cheerful, in stark contrast to her severe look.

"No," Olivia said shaking her head, "but I was hoping to speak with him regardless." She gave the woman a tight smile, maintaining the eye contact between them.

The woman finally shrugged uncomfortably, her smile dropping for a moment. "Of course. I'll see if he's available."

She pressed a button on her console and spoke into her headset. "Ms. Sharp? There's an Olivia Dunham here to speak with Dr. Bell. She's with the FBI." She listened for a moment before responding again, "Of course, Ms. Sharp." She looked up at Olivia with that smile on her face again. "Ms. Sharp will see you now. This way please."

Leaving her desk, she led Olivia over to a door behind her desk. Set about shoulder height on the wall next to the door was rectangle pad. The receptionist placed her hand on it and a green light flashed under hand, ran the length of it from top to bottom, than back again. The door clicked open. Olivia had heard of hand scanners like this, but had never seen one in action before.

The door led to hallway with more white walls, and more advertisements running the length of them. Olivia wondered why they felt the need to have all their accomplishments so garishly announced on every surface, even in restricted areas. It spoke to her of a deep seated arrogance, one that went all the way to the top. The corridor had more strangely angled walls and windows that she just couldn't make sense of. If this was the future of interior design, it appeared she was going to be hanging out in the past.

Eventually, they reached a large office, where an older woman with short red hair was standing behind a desk waiting for them. Olivia put her age somewhere in her fifties, probably closer to sixty. She was dressed in black, and held herself with an air of authority.

"Hello Agent Dunham, I'm Nina Sharp, Executive Director." She sat down and indicated for Olivia to take the seat in front of the desk. "What can I do for you? I only have a few minutes to spare."

Olivia frowned, taking the seat. "I was hoping to speak to William Bell, actually."

"I'm afraid Dr. Bell is unavailable at this time." She said calmly, hands crossed on the table in front of her.

"Why? Where is he?" Olivia retorted, feeling her irritation starting to grow. Why couldn't anything be easy for once?

"He is unavailable." Nina repeated, not giving an inch. "You know, I thought I recognized your name, Agent Dunham. This isn't the first time you've tried to get access to Dr. Bell recently. Did our response to your first request not reach you?"

"Ms. Sharp, I'm investigating the occurrence on Flight 627, I know you've heard of it." Olivia said coldly. "Every single man, woman, and child on that plane died horrific deaths, deaths I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Our primary suspect, is a former employee of yours, Richard Stieg. I believe he may have used research from your company to develop a self-eradicating airborne toxin that caused said horrific deaths. We don't know why or for whom yet, but it appears he was willing to sacrifice his own brother to do so. Whatever killed those people on that plane was brought on board by him. So, do you want to talk to me now?" She met the other woman's gaze calmly.

Olivia could see that Nina Sharp was not a woman used to being balked, she tossed her head like a fractious horse before turning to her assistant.

"Danielle," she said curtly after a moment, "please assemble everything we on Richard Stieg, for Agent Dunham here."

After the secretary left to retrieve the file on Stieg, Nina leaned back in her office chair studying her. Olivia kept the stoic smile on her face under Nina's scrutiny, unsure of the woman's intentions. They stared at each other in silence for several moments before Nina spoke.

"I remember this Richard Stieg." she recollected finally. "He was a promising young researcher working in our Weapon Systems Lab, until about three months ago, when he was caught trying to leave the premises with classified information. We terminated his employment immediately, and referred his name to the Justice Department. We've done our due diligence here, Agent Dunham. If you choose to drag our company and Dr. Bell's name into this matter, then you _will_ be hearing from our attorneys." She announced this certainty with a smile on her face that never reached her eyes.

Olivia knew an end to a topic when she heard one. Changing the subject, she asked, "Ms. Sharp, how long have you worked for Dr. Bell?" She tried to keep her tone conversational, not wanting the women to feel as if she were being questioned again.

"Sixteen years." She smiled, a real smile this time, as if remembering a fond moment. "I owe Dr. Bell and Massive Dynamic my life, Agent Dunham, and that is not an exaggeration."

"In what way?" Olivia replied, interested in finding out anything thing she could on William Bell's character. Something that hadn't been filtered through Walter's eccentricity.

"I've been a runner most of my life." Nine responded, grabbing her right hand and massaging her wrist. "The '97 Boston Marathon, was when I first noticed a strange tiredness, I was barely able to finish the race, and the feeling persisted after that. About a week later, Dr. Bell noticed it as well, and insisted I go in for a CAT scan."

She paused then before continuing. Olivia noted that she could see the white in the knuckles of her left hand as her grasp on her wrist tightened.

Nina continued after a moment, "The diagnosis was cancer. It had spread so severely that my arm was amputated that same week."

She held her right arm up, the sleeve falling back to uncover her unblemished skin. Then she dug the fingers of her left hand into the skin her right arm just past her elbow, and peeled the skin back to her fingertips to reveal a prosthetic limb, of a sort that Olivia had never seen or heard of before.

It appeared to be made of polished glass, or a hard clear plastic that exposed the inner workings. Olivia could see the metal knuckled joints in the fingertips and grayish muscles and tendons running the length of her forearm. At the elbow was a large ball joint, allowing her forearm to swivel in a normal manner. Watching the fingers as they opened and closed was eerie, and Olivia felt her eyes widen involuntarily at the sight. The way it had been revealed was so unexpected, that she wasn't sure what to say or do.

After observing Olivia's reaction, Nina went on, "That first scanner that found my cancer was made by this company. The robotic assist tools that were used at my surgery, the drugs I took afterwards, were all developed and manufactured by Massive Dynamic. And my replacement limb was designed by Dr. Bell himself. So you see, Agent Dunham, why I take affront to such accusations against William or this company. I owe everything to them."

Olivia nodded, not sure what to say to that. What could she say?

The side door opened and her assistant returned, carrying a manilla file folder. She wordlessly handed it Nina, who opened it and glanced at the contents before handing it to Olivia.

"Here you are, Agent Dunham. Everything we have on Richard Stieg. Do you believe that Stieg may part of _The Pattern_?" She inquired.

The way she said _pattern_, like it had some special significance, confused Olivia. "I'm sorry, did you say part of the…pattern?" She hated having to ask for clarification, but it sounded like something important.

Nina seemed taken aback at her question. "Oh, I assumed you had clearance." She seemed embarrassed, and Olivia got the sense that it was for her own ignorance.

"Well…I'm cleared to know whatever you're cleared to know, Ms. Sharp." Olivia said, failing to hide the uncertainty in her voice. She felt her face growing hot, which stoked her anger. Another thing she hated was feeling left out.

"Apparently not." Nina replied dryly. "But, suffice to say, that we've reached the point where science and technology have advanced at such an exponential rate for so long, it may be way beyond our ability to regulate and control them. You should know what you're getting into, Agent Dunham. I would say this to my own daughter, be careful and good luck."

To Olivia's surprise, she detected a note of sincerity from the woman, and it reduced her irritation to a tolerable level. She had no idea what Nina was talking about, but it was definitely something she would be bringing up with Broyles.

After taking her leave of Nina Sharp and Massive Dynamic, Olivia caught a cab back to airport and grabbed the first flight back to Boston. She went through the file as she waited in the terminal for her flight. There wasn't all that much there, just his employment application, the names of the projects he'd worked on, all of which were useless without knowing what they meant, some tax documents, and the account of his termination. The information he'd attempted to take looked like formulas for chemical compounds possibly, but she couldn't really make heads or tails of them. She'd have to have Walter take a look at them when she got back. Flipping through the tax documents again, she scanned them looking for anything that stood out, but found nothing that she didn't already know. Going back to the application, Olivia noticed something she'd overlooked before. The telephone number listed was not the same as the one that was no longer in service from the FBI file. It was a still a long shot, but at this point, she was out of leads.

Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed Charlie's number and waited for him to answer.

"What's up, Dunham?" Olivia heard his familiar voice and smiled.

"Hey Charlie, how's it going there?" she replied.

"We're in a holding pattern here. How did Massive Dynamic go? They didn't throw you out of the building did they?" he quipped, making her roll her eyes in amusement.

"Actually one of their executives, Nina Sharp, was surprisingly helpful. She gave me a file on Stieg. I may have found something in it."

"What have you got?" His voice was all business.

"I need you check out a phone number, see if it's still in use, and whether or not it's at the same address as it was in 2003 if it is. Stieg had it listed on his employment application as his contact number."

"Will do, Livvy. I'll let you know as soon I as I find out." Charlie said after she'd relayed him the number.

"Thanks, Charlie. You're the best."

"Watch yourself Dunham, or my wife will come after you." He replied in mock outrage.

She laughed, and ended the conversation, feeling good with her progress. Soon after, her flight was announced and she boarded, intending to catch an hour of sleep on the flight. As soon as she sat down and was buckled into her seat, she allowed the exhaustion to overwhelm her, and she was asleep before the plane taxied down the runway.

.

Olivia was awakened from her light sleep by the vibration of her cell phone in her pocket. She grabbed it out of pure instinct before it could stop its buzzing. Checking the number she saw that it was Charlie, returning her call.

"Charlie, what did you find out?" She said in a rush as soon as she hit the talk button.

"Well hello to you too. Good news. That number's still active, same address since the nineties."

Olivia felt her pulse start to race. This was it! She could feel it. She swallowed before trying to reply in her normal tone of voice. "Charlie, have you sent anyone there yet? We can't scare him off it's the right place. Have you talked to Broyles, he-" She could her herself getting carried away from the adrenaline his news had supplied her with.

"Liv," Charlie interrupted, "There's a SWAT team standing by, as soon as you get back, we're going in."

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "I'm gonna swing by the lab and pick up the Bishops on my way. I want Walter to hear what he has to say as soon as possible, if it is him."

There was a pause, before he spoke again, "Ok Liv, we'll be waiting to hear from you." He said before cutting the connection.

Olivia knew he was uncomfortable with her bringing the Bishops to a crime scene, and on a raid no less, but she couldn't waste any time with Stieg. Walter needed to hear what he had to say in real-time, any time wasted could be crucial. She dialed Peter's cell number, hoping he would be awake by now, it had been several hours after all.

"This is the Crazy House. How can I be of assistance?"

Olivia blinked, that was Peter's voice wasn't it? "Peter?"

"That's me." He replied, his tone mischievous. Apparently he hadn't woken up grumpy, or had recovered to his normal self already.

"Hi, it's…uhh" Olivia realized she wasn't sure whether to refer to herself as Olivia or Agent Dunham with him. Were they friends? She thought they might be, sort of, for the moment at least. "…it's me, Olivia."

"Yeah, I know. What can I do for you?" he said with a laugh.

She shook her head in resignation. _He really is a pain in the ass, _Olivia thought to herself, and not unkindly for the first time. "I'm getting ready to land at Logan. Then I'll be on my way to you. I think we may have located our suspect."

"Hold on sec, you found the guy?" His voice was incredulous. "The guy from your dreams? Wow…I don't believe it." He sounded dumbfounded.

He really had no faith at all in his father, Olivia realized. Was he expecting John to die? She couldn't exactly blame him for that though, if he was. He was in bad shape, and how could she expect anyone to believe what had happened in the tank. She still couldn't believe it, and it had happened to her.

"Well, I'm picking you both up. I need your father there when we question him, and get whatever information he needs so he can make the cure for John, and I need you there too, in case your father is…well…you know." She said uncomfortably at the end.

"Say no more, Olivia. We'll be waiting out front." Olivia could hear his smile through the phone.

Olivia ended the call as the plane started its descent into Logan. As she watched Boston rotate beneath her, she felt the seed of hope she'd been holding on to start to grow.

.

.

.

.

.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

.

**-Harvard, Kresge Bldg, Basement**

**Peter **walked slowly back through the lab towards the bench in front of Gene's stall where they'd set up the tv that Walter had found god knows where. He still couldn't believe what Olivia had just told him. She thought she had actually found the guy she saw in her dream, from when she was in the tank. _Walter's procedure worked._ The thought kept running through his mind, stuck in a loop. He couldn't process it. The implications of it were not something he was prepared to deal with at the moment. An vision of Walter struggling as he was dragged out of a courtroom, shouting that he wasn't insane, if they would only give him a chance to prove it, flashed through his mind. The guilt caused lump to begin to form in his throat, but he shook it off. Now was not the time.

He stopped at John Scott's gurney, checking his vitals on the monitor mounted to it. _You're not looking so good, my friend, _Peter thought, staring down through the flesh of his cheek at the profile view of his teeth. It looked like he'd had several cavities capped on his molars. _Look ma, no x-ray!_ It was amazing what you could get used to with just a little time and exposure. When he'd first seen John Scott in this condition, he'd wanted empty his lunch into the nearest trashcan or toilet, he wasn't picky. Now, he was able to make sick jokes about it in his head without batting an eye. As he moved closer to the back of the lab, he could hear Astrid and Walter talking about the narrative qualities of Spongebob Squarepants as they ate their lunch.

Feeling his own stomach rumble, Peter walked over and sat down net to Walter on the bench, and picked up his tub of fried rice that Astrid had been nice enough to go get for them. And now he found himself sitting on a bench in front of a cow, in a secret lab in the basement of Harvard, the sworn enemy of his fake alma mater, while eating chinese carryout and watching Spongebob with his father, who'd just been released from a mental institution after seventeen years. The surreality of it all made his head spin. He ate mechanically, staring blankly at the cartoon playing in front of him, while Walter and Astrid pretended that this was all normal. He couldn't though, as the thought that Walter might not quite be the man he'd thought he was for the last seventeen years surfaced again.

Walter noticing his moroseness turned to him, a concerned look on wrinkled face. "Peter, what's the matter, son? You don't like Spongepants?" Walter poked him in the leg with a chopstick, trying to get his attention.

His prodding with the chopstick broke Peter out of the guilt-filled contemplation he'd been stuck in for the last few minutes. "No, it's fine Walter." He said, brushing the chopstick away from him. "Just hurry up and eat, Olivia called. She's going to be picking us up soon."

"Oh? What's the occasion?" Walter replied through a mouthful of rice.

"Well Walter," he replied around his own mouthful, which he swallowed down before continuing. "Apparently, the whole let's give a federal agent a massive dose of acid, and throw her into a tank of water thing worked." Seeing a blank look on his father's face, he elaborated. "The shared dream state? It worked. Olivia thinks she found the guy."

"Really?" Astrid exclaimed, "That's great Dr. Bishop, amazing actually." She seemed shocked, and Peter couldn't blame her.

"Of course it worked, son." Walter said, as if it had never been in doubt. "I told you that I'd done this before. Are you feeling ok? You never had problems with your memory when you were a boy… perhaps I could…" He made as if to grab Peter's head.

"My memory is fine, Walter." He said quickly, fending off Walter's attempts at grabbing him again. The man really needed to learn the meaning of personal space. "So, we're going with Olivia to pick up the guy. She wants you to be there when he's questioned."

"She's taking you with her on a raid?" Astrid questioned, surprised, and if he wasn't mistaken, a little bit put out. Before he could respond to her, Walter jerked off the bench, showering the floor with fried rice.

"A raid? That's wonderful Peter!" He exclaimed, shoulders bobbing in his excitement. "Do you think they'll let me wear a bulletproof vest? And one of those face shields too, it's going to be so exciting!" He was pacing back and forth in front them, gesticulating wildly.

"Walter…Walter," Peter jumped in front of him, hands raised to forestall him. "Slow down. I'm sure we will be waiting in Agent Dunham's car, far from the scene. They won't need you until after they catch the guy. Ok?"

Walter seemed crestfallen, but nodded. "I suppose you're right, son." Shuffling through the mess of rice on the floor, he entered Gene's stall and began to brush her down, ignoring Peter and Astrid as they watched.

Shaking his head at his eccentric father, he looked over at Astrid and caught her eye. "You want to go on the raid, don't you?" he commiserated.

She smiled sweetly at him, "I don't know, they haven't let me go on any yet, but I thought, maybe…" She shrugged, "It's not a big deal. I'm sure there will be other times once this over."

Peter nodded agreement, then looked down at the mess on the floor. He sure as hell wasn't cleaning that up. Looking up, he saw Astrid watching him, a knowing look on her face, lips pursed. Their eyes locked for a moment, before he nodded and looked again down at the floor meaningfully. Her eyes narrowed in response, causing him to smile wide.

"So Astrid," he said smoothly, "We've known each other what, two days now? I think that makes us friends, don't you? And in the interest of friendship, what do you say to you cleaning up Walter's mess on the floor, and me watching you from a safe distance?" She didn't look at all convinced, so he continued. "Did anyone ever tell you that those curls in your hair are just lovely," she was smiling now, trying not to laugh, "they really set off the color of your eyes, and-"

"Fine, fine, I'll do it," Astrid said, cracking up. "We're not making a habit of this though, Peter."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He replied, grinning at her amusement.

As he watched her go about it, he heard his phone vibrating on the table where he'd left it. Picking it up, he saw it was a text from Olivia, indicating she would be there in a few minutes. "Walter," he called over to his father where he was busy digging through an old box of vinyl records. "Olivia's almost here, let's go."

.

They only had to wait for Olivia for a few minutes before she pulled up in her sedan, and let them in. She had looked excited, her face flushed, as she talked on her phone with someone, he guessed it was Agent Francis, about the upcoming raid. Olivia was in full Agent Dunham mode, all business and no fun.

When they had arrived at the scene, which he happened to be familiar with from his early teen years, she'd instructed them in her agent voice that they were to stay in the car and not leave it, until she came back for them. Then she'd passed through a police barricade that had been set up, and he'd seen her join Agent Francis and other agents pulling vests out of a black SUV. His eyes widened when he saw her pull on a gas mask. It made sense, considering who they were going after. He tried to avoid thinking of what would happen if the toxin could enter your body by just coming in contact with skin, but failed, and a vision of finding Olivia's body, face translucent behind her gas mask, dead on the floor of some apartment building went through his head. _I'm not worrying about her, _he told himself. _She can definitely take care of herself. _It wasn't like he could do anything about it anyways.

Staring out the window at the falling snow, Peter realized that the raid was a first for him, especially from this side of the law. He remembered the close call he'd had once, back when he was associating with Big Eddie. He had left a backroom high stakes card game only minutes before the place had been busted in a raid by Boston PD. His lucky departure had not helped his reputation among the other associates of Eddie's. That close call was the start of the events that had ultimately forced him to flee Boston, just ahead of Eddie's goons, leaving Tess, and everyone else behind, he realized. It seemed like another lifetime ago, and with all the places he'd been since then. He wondered what Tess was like these days, if she was still around, if Michael was still harassing her. He supposed it didn't matter at this point, she was his past, he'd let her go long ago.

* * *

**Olivia** hated wearing gas masks. They obstructed her peripheral vision, and her long hair always got tangled in the straps. Once Charlie had told her she should cut it short if it was such a problem, which had earned him a bruised bicep for his trouble. She smiled behind her mask as she remembered the moment. Seeing that Charlie was about ready to go, she quickly began her before-raid ritual that she always ran through. Pulling out her Glock, she cracked open the slide, ejected the bullet, and chambered the next round as the slide clicked back into place. Releasing the clip, she reloaded the ejected bullet, and slid the clip back home in the grip of the pistol. Then she re-holstered the weapon, bent down to check that her shoelaces were securely tied, which they were, and she was done. Olivia wasn't sure when she'd started doing this before every raid, but it always seemed to calm her nerves to a flatline.

"You ready?" Charlie asked her, his voice muffled from his mask.

She nodded affirmative, and he turned and gave the signal to the surrounding agents. They moved in a single file down the snowy sidewalk and around the corner of a building on the other end of the block, from what she hoped was Richard Stieg's hideout. Eventually they came to an alley that would that run the length of the block behind both buildings. Hustling down the narrow passage, the line of agents approached the target house. The lead agents wearing the full tactical gear and carrying the H&K's took up their positions on either side of steps leading up to the rear door. Others circled around the corners of the house and would be rushing in through the front door. Olivia pulled her Glock from its holster as they moved into position behind the lead agents and waited for the go signal.

The rear door of the home next to Stieg's suddenly swung open and a woman with a young boy suddenly stepped out and froze at the sight of all them, weapons drawn, about to converge on the space she was occupying. Olivia watched the closest agent direct her and her son quietly down the alley away from the danger. She exchanged glances with Charlie, he shook his head at the close call.

When everyone was in their place, the signal came, and an agent carrying a heavy ram, ran up the steps and bashed the ram into the door knob, popping it out like a cork. The door swung open to reveal a dark interior, and they rushed up the steps and into the home, weapons drawn and ready.

Olivia followed Charlie broad shoulders through the door and into a dimly lit kitchen. Looking around, she noted the dishes in the sink, on the table, it looked lived in, and recently. Through a doorway to a family room, she saw a tv turned on, but muted on some shopping channel. She heard agents further into the house clearing the rooms one by one, until it became obvious that Stieg wasn't there. As she started to head to the next room, she heard the floor let out a squeak beneath her. Glancing down she noticed the carpet she was on was actually a rug, and it had been moved recently, exposing a line hardwood that was much darker than the surrounding.

Narrowing her eyes, she crouched down and grabbed the edge of the rug and pulled it back. There was a string tied to the bottom which she assumed was supposed to hold it place. As she pulled it back farther she saw a handle set into the floor, and she realized she was looking at a trap door.

Olivia threw the rug aside, and pulled open the door to expose a ladder, leading down to a basement. Motioning for Charlie to cover her, she slowly descended the ladder into what appeared to be another lab, similar to the ones she'd seen with John. She heard Charlie come down the ladder behind her and she turned to face him.

"This is it, Charlie!" She said through her mask. "It's the same as at the storage facility."

"I see that." He replied grimly, looking around the space with his flashlight.

She heard the agent with the biological agent detector call out that the air was clear, so she removed her mask, and moved further into the lab.

* * *

**Peter** was feeling bored at the lack of action so far, the raid was not living up to its Hollywood cousin's standards. Looking around Olivia's car, he spied the file on Richard Stieg that Olivia had left behind on the passenger seat. With a shrug, he reached over the seat and grabbed it, then opened it and looked at the photos of the man. _So that's the face of a mass murderer_, he thought. _He looks an average guy._ Peter wasn't sure what he was expecting, maybe an evil glint in his eye, or something obvious to indicate he was not an average guy.

Peter felt Walter shift on the seat next to him. "What is it Walter?" He said keeping his eyes on the file.

"I'd like to take your blood pressure, son." Walter asked.

_Take my blood pressure?_ "No thanks, Walter. My blood pressure is fine. Why don't you check your own?" He said sarcastically.

"Your skin tone suggests you might be suffering from arterial hypertension, Peter." Walter insisted, not ready to give up.

Peter shook his head. "Walter, don't tell me what I'm suffering from." He was beginning to feel annoyed with the situation. Being stuck in the car with his father in one of his moods, was something he could only tolerate so for so long. "Oh, and there are no visible signs of hypertension." He added, hoping Walter would drop it.

After a few moments of silence, Walter spoke again softly. "When this over Peter, please don't send me back. I don't want to go back."

Peter looked over at his father, feeling the guilt again, "Look Walter, it's not my-"

"This experience son," Walter went on in a broken voice, "it's...woke me up...and...you can't put me back to sleep again, Peter, please."

"Walter, none of this was my idea, any of it. What do you expect me to do? My life, it's…it's not here." Peter tried to keep his voice calm, but he didn't want to be having this conversation. He looked out the window, not wanting to see the look on his father's face. They were parked adjacent to an alley that he could see the length of from the car window. It was empty at the moment.

"Whatever punishment you think I've deserve, I swear to you that I have already endured it. I was in there for seventeen years, son. Please, don't send me back." Walter voice sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

_Fuck, Walter, don't do this to me._ He felt his throat constrict at the pain in his father's voice. He was about to respond when he saw movement from the alley in his peripheral vision.

He leaned forward curiously to take a closer look. It was a man, about half way down the alley. He was coming out a basement, closing the door behind him very carefully, as if trying not to make any noise. The man looked up and down the alley in both directions, before quickly turning and heading in Peter's direction.

As he came closer, and Peter could see him more clearly, he thought he'd seen him before. Recently. Glancing down at the open file on his lap, he realized that it was Richard Stieg.

Not sure what to do for a second, he looked around and saw that there were no agents in sight that he could alert. He hesitated, then made his choice. _I'm probably gonna to regret this,_ he thought, before opening the door and getting out.

"HEY!"

Stieg froze, shocked at Peter's shout. Their eyes met. He slowly began to move back down the alley away from Peter.

"HEY!" Peter bellowed again.

"What is it? Can I get out?" He heard Walter say from in the car.

"Stay in the car, Walter!" Peter said quickly as Stieg turned and ran the other way down the alley.

"HEY! HE'S IN THE ALLEY!" Peter yelled as he sprinted after Stieg's retreating form, trying not to slip in the snow and ice.

* * *

**Olivia** had just discovered that there was door to the outside near the back of the basement lab when she heard a muffled shout.

"What was that?" she asked Charlie who was in the middle of climbing the ladder to the floor above

"I don't know," he replied, pausing in his climb. "Sounded like-"

_"Hey! He's in the alley!"_

Olivia heard it again, much closer this time._ Is that Peter? I told him to stay in the car!_

"Who was that? Was that one of ours?" She heard Charlie say as she opened the door to the outside and looked out.

She saw the back of Peter's black coat as he raced after another man towards the other end of the alley.

"It's Stieg!" She shouted to Charlie, and darted through the slushy alleyway after them. They had a good head start on her, with Stieg almost to the street when she joined in the chase. She saw Stieg turn the corner, with Peter just behind him.

Olivia sprinted to the end of the alley and made the turn after Peter and Stieg. She could see Peter's tall form ahead of her, as he zig-zagged his way through the pedestrians, and then though traffic as he crossed the street. Cars honked and tires screeched in protest, in the wake of their passage. With the two of them breaking a trail through the onlookers for her, she was able to make up considerable ground on them as they both turned down another alleyway ahead of her. Seeing a chance to make up some more ground, Olivia turned down a parallel alley that would take her to the next street over.

As she came out on the next street, she heard loud honking and the shrieking of rubber sliding on pavement, then a crash. Hoping Peter hadn't been hurt, she looked in direction of the ruckus, and saw him standing in the middle of the street, trying to get around a car that had been rear-ended. He must have had to stop to avoid being hit. Their eyes met for a moment as she ran by him down the sidewalk. Bearing down, Olivia forced herself to run faster, until she could feel the burn in her thighs as she pounded down the sidewalk.

She could see Stieg ahead of her now on the opposite side of the street, running through the pedestrians, shoving them out of his way. Olivia stayed on her side of the street pacing him, hoping to find a break in traffic so she could cross safely. Suddenly, he stopped and yanked open a door between two storefronts. He glanced over his shoulder, and tore through the doorway.

Olivia angled towards the door, and just missed getting clipped by a passing truck. There was a loud honk and the driver rolled his window down and hollered at her, wanting to know what the fuck she thought she was doing. Olivia ignored him, and crashed through the door Stieg had gone through moments before.

The door opened on a stairwell that led up to the apartments above the stores below. There was woman's scream ahead of her as she started up the stairs. A bag of groceries came tumbling down the steps towards her, ejecting fruit and vegetables in all directions. She dodged the culinary bullets raining down on her, narrowly avoiding a head of lettuce as it hurled by at head height. She reached the top of the stairwell and leapt over a woman with a dazed expression on her face, attempting to pick herself up off floor. At the end of a narrow, dimly lit hallway, a door stood open, and through it she saw Stieg throw a man out of his way and disappear farther into an apartment. She sprinted down the hallway to the open door and then through it, and into the dingy apartment. The man was on his hands and knees on his living room floor, cowering, when Olivia ran by him shouting, "FBI! Stay down!" and into a kitchen where a young boy was frozen, sitting at a table eating his dinner, eyes wide and fork half-way to his mouth. There was a woman, backed up against the countertop, hands over mouth as she gaped at Olivia. She heard a muffled, _"What the hell is going on, lady?" _from the room behind her. On the far wall was a door to the fire escape, and she could see Stieg's feet heading up the treads through the window over the sink.

Quickly crossing the kitchen floor, she threw open the door and charged up the fire escape. There was a shower of snow from above as Stieg's feet knocked the powder through the grated treads. Rubbing her eyes, she ran to the top to see him already half way across the rooftop. She wasn't sure where he thought he was running to, there was nowhere to go up here. Olivia continued the chase, leaping over low walls and dodging exhaust fans and air conditioning units. When he reached the edge of the roof, he jumped off without hesitation to her surprise. _Oh shit! _She thought as she quickly approached the parapet he'd leapt off of herself. She saw that he'd landed on the fire escape balcony of the next building over, and before she could think about it, she followed him over.

Olivia landed hard, the shock running all way through her up to her shoulders, and then her momentum carried her into the brick wall of the building, knocking the breath out of her. Looking down, she saw Stieg about halfway down the fire escape steps, and was about to follow him when she noticed an open dumpster directly below her. It was overflowing with black trash bags from tenants of the surrounding buildings. Without thinking again, she vaulted herself over the railing and fell the two or three stories into the dumpster below, the trash bags doing an excellent job of mostly breaking her fall. As she quickly climbed out, Stieg reached the end of the stairs and sprinted past her down another alleyway.

She was about to give chase again when Peter suddenly came hurtling out of nowhere, and tackled Stieg hard to the ground. They rolled around in the slush and snow for a moment before Peter came out on top, driving his fist into the other man's face repeatedly, knocking his head back into the pavement.

Olivia approached, pulling out her weapon and placed her foot on his chest, just below his chin, then put her gun to his head. "We've got some questions for you, Mr. Stieg." she said grimly.

"Fuck you!" he spat back.

Peter hit him in the face again, splattering more blood from his nose. "That's no way to talk to the lady." he said nastily.

He looked like he was about to hit him again, so Olivia put her hand on his shoulder, stopping him. He looked up at her and nodded, getting to his feet.

"Roll over. Hands on the back of your head." she instructed Stieg, keeping her gun on him. "Now."

He complied after a moment, and she knelt on his back, pulling her cuffs out and snapping them on, making sure to wrench his arms as much as possible as she did so. When she was finished, she stood and pulled out her phone.

Charlie picked up on the first ring. "What's your twenty, Liv? You ok?" he said anxiously.

"I'm fine." Olivia replied. "We've got Stieg. We're uhh...where are we?" she asked Peter.

"We're about two blocks southwest of where we started." he replied. She noticed he was looking at her strangely, with wide eyes.

"We're two blocks southwest of Stieg's lab. We need transport for him back to the office for interrogation." She told Charlie, and heard him giving orders to someone nearby.

"Who's we?" He questioned when he was back on the line.

"Me, and uhh…Peter." she replied after a moment, slightly uncomfortable with his line of questioning. She was aware that if word got back to Broyles that she had taken the Bishops on a raid, and that Peter had actually participated in apprehending a suspect, it could mean trouble for her.

Charlie didn't respond for a moment, before saying, "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that, Livvy. I'll be there in a few."

"Thanks Charlie." Olivia said sincerely, ending the conversation.

"Charlie will be here in a few minutes with transport for our friend here." She told Peter, nudging Stieg with the toe of her boot.

He didn't say anything in response, just nodded, still giving her that look and rubbing the knuckles on his left hand. Olivia noticed they were bleeding, whether scraped from Stieg's teeth, or from contact with the pavement, she wasn't sure. She hoped he hadn't broken anything, she'd never meant for him to get so involved with any of this.

An uncomfortable silence grew between them as they waited, and Olivia wasn't sure of the source of it. Was he mad at her? His expression was unreadable, with him just looking at her pensively. She heard approaching sirens and looked down at Stieg. He had a resigned look on his face.

"You wanna have the honors?" she grinned at Peter, nodding down at Stieg.

A wide smile appeared on his face, breaking his strange demeanor.

"Sure thing." Peter reached down at hauled Stieg up to his feet by the handcuffs, causing him to let out a gasp in pain. "Now that's a lot more fun from this end." he said, still grinning madly.

Olivia wasn't sure what he was referring to for a moment, until she remembered he'd been arrested seven times before. It made sense that he might have been on the receiving end of such treatment before. It was strange, she hadn't really thought too much about his criminal background for a while, not since he'd brought her that cup coffee, she realized.

She shook her head in amusement at his pleasure. "Well, don't get too hooked on it, I don't think we'll be doing this again."

"Yeah, I suppose not." He replied, looking away from her, his smile fading and that pensive look returning to his face.

The sirens were quite close now, and she turned to face Charlie's black SUV as turned down the alley. He pulled up next to them and hopped out. Olivia was thankful that he'd come alone. Charlie covering for her was one thing, expecting anyone else to was something else.

"So this our guy?" he said nodding in the handcuffed mans direction.

"That's him, let's get him back to the Federal Building."

Charlie grabbed Stieg by the elbow and roughly forced him into the back his SUV, before turning back to face Peter.

"What the hell are you doing here Bishop? Don't you know that you're being here could get her in serious trouble?" he said confrontationally, letting his obvious displeasure show at Peter's presence at the scene.

Peter seemed startled at Charlie's outburst for a moment, then his back straightened and his face darkened with anger. "For your information, Francis, it wasn't my idea to-" The way he'd said _Francis, _like that, was sure to set Charlie off, so she stepped in quickly.

"Charlie," she said stepping between them. "I brought him here. He was supposed to stay in the car," She looked at back Peter intently, then back to Charlie. "but if he had, we wouldn't have caught Stieg. We wouldn't have known he was even here."

Charlie looked back and forth between them, eyes narrowed. After a while he nodded in Peter's direction. "Alright." He said, letting his anger go. "Just leave it to the professionals next time. Ok?"

Peter relaxed and let out a "Don't worry about that." with a shake of his head before, turning and walking away from the two of them.

Charlie stared after him for a moment before turning to Olivia. Seeing the look on her face, he said a bit sheepishly, "Alright, I may have overreacted a bit, but let's not do this anymore, ok, Liv? He's not even close to a trained agent."

"He's probably not even going to be around much longer, Charlie." She defended him softly. "Give him a break. I wasn't lying when I said we wouldn't have caught Stieg without him. Peter caught him, not me."

Charlie looked over at Peter with some little grudging respect. "You need a lift back?" he said keeping his eyes on Peter's back.

"No," she said shaking her head. "My cars only about a block from here. We'll walk."

"Ok, see you at the office." He replied and slid into the driver's seat of his SUV. Before closing the door he called over to Peter, "Hey Bishop!"

Peter turned around inquiringly, eyebrows raised.

"Nice work with Stieg." Charlie said and closed the door, and accelerating away, heading towards the main thoroughfare.

They both watched his receding taillights for a moment before Peter turned to her with a bemused look on his face.

"Is he always like that?"

"Who, Charlie?" she replied with a laugh. "Yeah, he can be a bit overprotective sometimes. But he's good guy to have on your side, you know?" She turned, and started walking in the direction of her car, leaving Peter behind. After a moment, she heard Peter's swift footsteps as he caught up with her, then matched her pace.

"So, how did you even know where we were, to ambush Stieg like that?" she asked him as they walked. The way she'd seen him come out of nowhere like that, it was like he'd been expecting them to be there.

Peter glanced at her with a half-smile on his face. "I have my methods, Agent Dunham." he replied cryptically.

Olivia rolled her eyes and elbowed him lightly in the side. "Out with it Bishop. I want to know. Really." she added, meeting his blue eyes with her own.

"Ok, ok…" He said before looking away from her, "Well, I saw you follow Stieg into that building and I knew that there were fire escapes he could potentially escape down on this side, so I thought I'd cover them. Those things make quite a racket when there are two people running down them. So that's how I knew where you were." He finished, giving her that look again.

"And how did you know about the fire escapes?"

"I grew up in Boston, Olivia. There aren't a lot of places here I don't know about." he said, his voice unexpectedly morose.

"Well, thank you. For choosing to help, I mean." Olivia said. "If you hadn't been there…" She trailed off, not wanting think about what that would have meant.

They walked a little farther and she caught him looking at her several times, with what she thought might be wonder on his face.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she asked curiously.

He stopped walking and made as if to grab her arm, but then thought better of it. "Olivia, are you Ok?"

She stopped and turned to him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I just saw you jump off a two, maybe three story building, and then walk away without a scratch. Is that normal for you?" he asked in shaky voice.

Olivia hadn't really thought about it until that moment. She had done exactly what he said. Her shoulder hurt from when she'd slammed into the side of the building though, so she wasn't completely unscathed. It wasn't something she wanted to think about right now. "I'm fine. Let's get back to the car." She said and resumed her walking.

He caught up a moment later and they walked the rest of the way to her car in silence. Walter was almost beside himself when they opened the doors and got in, Peter sliding in next to him in the back seat.

"Peter!" he said "Where have you been? I almost pissed myself I've been waiting for so long." he complained.

"Walter, I was gone less than an hour. If you need to go, there's a coffee shop right there." Peter pointed out to a place across the street from them. "Go in there and come right back."

"You're not going with me, son?" Walter asked, surprised at Peter's letting go of the leash.

"I'm not holding your hand while you go to the bathroom, Walter. I gotta draw the line somewhere. If you're not back in five minutes, I'll come and look for you, Ok?"

Walter got out and hurried across the street to the coffee shop. While they waited for his return, Olivia met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

"You're not Wonder Woman in disguise are you?" he asked conspiratorially, "Cause if you were? That would be pretty cool."

.

.

**.**

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	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

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**-Federal Building, Boston**

**Peter** could see the frustration on Olivia's face. It was as clear as day on the multiple monitors located around the room he was occupying with Walter, as they watched the interrogation. The man was being obstinate. It had felt good to pound that bastard's face into the pavement, too good. The guy was lucky Olivia had stopped him in that alleyway.

He'd come around the corner of the building just in time to see Olivia's body going over the railing of the fire escape. Peter remembered thinking that she was dead or seriously injured at the very least, and the thought had left him...he didn't want to say devastated, because it just couldn't _be_ that, that was...impossible. Disturbed was a better word, it had left him disturbed. And then he'd felt a rage encompass him, like a star about to go supernova, and he just knew that he had to kill Stieg for what he'd done. To Olivia, for himself, for the plane that had started this whole goddamn mess. The man was going to die. He was just getting started on the process when her boot had come down on Stieg's chest, and he'd heard her voice. The murderous rage had left him as swiftly as it appeared, leaving behind this confused state he found himself still in currently.

Peter looked back at Olivia through one of the monitors. She was leaning over the table, blond hair loose on either side of her face, rattling off strings of statutes that Stieg was going to be finding himself tried under, if he wasn't just sent straight to Guantanimo. He heard Walter fiddling with the recording equipment they were using, muttering to himself about how marvelous the technology was. "Don't touch that, Walter." he said absently, not really paying too much attention to him.

"I'm not hurting anything, Peter." he replied stiffly. "This device is simply wonderful. Can we get one for the lab? I see several ways in which I could utilize it too..." Peter stopped listening to him, thoughts turning inwards again.

What was it about her that he found himself drawn to her like this? Sure, she was a beautiful woman, but that in itself didn't explain it. He'd been around plenty of beautiful women before, without becoming...he was not obsessed. Peter was beginning to suspect that Olivia represented something, unattainable for him. There was a goodness in her that he knew he could not, and would never deserve, but he couldn't help but be caught in her gravity anyway. Not to mention the fact that she jumped off buildings, without even breaking a sweat. Olivia was like a force of nature, implacable and fearless. All in all, he'd never met anyone like her, with a combination of fierceness and vulnerability that he found mesmerizing. _And that, is I why I need to get the hell out of Boston, _he thought grimly to himself. Why was he even thinking about her like this anyway? He'd known the woman less than forty eight hours, and she would probably be out if his life in about the same amount of time.

Determined to stop thinking about things that would never be, he focused on the monitors again. Stieg had an arrogant look on his face as she laid out all the charges against him.

"Mr. Stieg, you want immunity? Well, I want a detailed account of all the synthetic chemicals you had in that storage facility." She handed him pen and pad of paper. "Write them down, and then, and only then, can we talk about an agreement for immunity."

They stared at each other over the table, until Stieg shook his head slowly, "I have nothing to say." he said slowly, making sure to say every word clearly.

Olivia lips formed a thin line as she opened a file folder on the table in front of her. It was full of photos from the plane, Peter recognized. She flipped through them for a moment before pulling one out and laying it in front of Stieg.

He looked down at it, face expressionless, then back up at her. He took a sip of his water, eyeing her over the rim.

"What about your brother, Mr. Steig. The one you sacrificed on the plane. This is all that is left of him. We had to scrape him off the floor. Do you have anything to say about him?" her voice was cold, and if Peter wasn't mistaken, she had almost reached her breaking point.

"Did your brother know that this was going to happen to him, Mr. Stieg?" Olivia questioned. "Was he a part of this too?"

Stieg, smirked at her and repeated his mantra. "I. Have. Nothing. To. Say." he leaned back in his chair defiantly, as if daring her to do something about his lack of cooperation.

Olivia stared at him furiously, then suddenly slammed the file folder shut, picked it up and stormed out, slamming the door hard behind her. Through the window to the hallway outside, Peter saw her pull out her cell phone and walk away, talking anxiously to someone.

Bringing his attention back to the Stieg, he saw him looking at the camera with a little smile on his face, pleased with himself.

_That son of a bitch,_ Peter thought, feeling the rage starting to trickle into him again. _After everything she's been through to get this far, you're gonna stop her at the one yard line? I don't think so._

Looking around, he noticed that there were no agents in sight in either direction down the hallway. An idea started to form in his mind. Stieg knew that the FBI would never be allowed to really do anything to him, other than play mind games, with all the torture scandals going through the news since 9/11. He wasn't going to tell Olivia or any other agent what they needed to know, at least not in the time span they needed. Lucky for him, or perhaps unlucky, Peter wasn't an agent, or even FBI, just an unknown. He drained his cup of coffee, and tested the weight of it in his hand. It would work nicely for his purposes. He got up and went over to where Walter was still messing with the equipment in the corner of the room.

"Walter, I need you to stay in here. Ok?" Peter said as he reached behind the recording console and tore all the cables out of their inputs.

"What are you doing, son?" Walter said suspiciously, as all the monitors around the room turned to blue screens.

"Getting some answers Walter. Stay Here." he repeated, hoping for once his father would listen.

Peter walked out into the hallway with his empty coffee cup, and over to the door to the interrogation room, which Olivia had left Stieg in. He looked around and seeing no one observing him, stepped in and closed the door quietly behind him.

Richard Stieg looked up at him eyebrows raised with a smirk on his face, but said nothing.

Peter walked over to the table Stieg was behind, and leaned on over it in much the same way Olivia had before him. They regarded each other for a moment before Peter spoke.

"So Mr. Stieg, this compound that you've created, it's water soluble right?" He remembered from Walter's initial analysis of Agent Scott's blood.

Stieg watched him warily, but said nothing.

"We may not know how it works," Peter went on, "but we know what it does. Which means, that if I wanted to, I could extract the compound from our agent's blood and tissue samples, allowing me to slip them to you, at any time of my choosing." He let his voice drop an octave, allowing it to take on a sinister tone. He leaned closer into Stieg's personal space as he continued, "It could be in your food, your water, a cup of coffee, on a toilet seat, no one would ever know how it happened."

The other man was trying to lean away from him, eyeing the the cup of water he'd been drinking from earlier. "You can't touch me!" he gasped. "You can't do that!"

"Wrong, I don't work for the FBI, or even the Federal Government." Peter said fiercely. "But here's the thing, Mr. Stieg, that woman who was just in here, it's her friend that's dying from your fucking compound, so I just don't have that kind of time."

Before the other man could react, Peter snatched the chain between his handcuffs, and yanked him across the table towards him, and slammed the coffee cup down across the fingers of his left hand.

"Aaahhh, fuck!" Stieg shrieked, trying to pull away. Peter bore down with his weight holding his hand in place.

The door burst open behind him and Olivia rushed in, "Peter stop, you can't do that!" she said eyes wide at the scene.

"No, _you_ can't do that! I can. Close the door, Agent Dunham." he replied without taking his eyes off the other man. He heard the door click shut softly behind him. "I'm gonna count to one, you piece of shit! Now tell me the chemicals that were in that storage facility!"

Stieg was panting, his face twisted in pain, staring down at his battered hand. He looked up, and Peter still saw some determination in his eyes.

...One!"

"Nooo!" Stieg wailed, trying to pull away.

He brought the cup down again, harder this time, splattering blood across the table.

"Aaahh, you broke my fucking hand!" Stieg whimpered, with sweat or tears running down his face, Peter couldn't tell.

"Tell me the chemicals!" Peter growled, raising the cup again. He noticed that the the bottom of the cup was stained with blood. A single drop fell from the cup and landed between Peter and Stieg on the table. The other man's eyes were drawn to it.

"Okay, okay...just stop...please..." Stieg panted, looking at Peter with terror in his eyes.

"Write them out. Now." He said softly in a menacing tone.

Stieg grabbed the pencil with his good hand, and began scribbling the names down quickly, cowering before the upraised cup. He wrote down seven or eight names before pushing the paper and pencil away from him. "There, that's all of them...just leave me alone..." He exhaled, breathing hard. He kept his eyes lowered, as if afraid to look Peter in the eye again. Then he looked over at Olivia, who was white-faced against the wall by the door, "I told you what you wanted," he panted. "I want that immunity."

Peter grabbed the paper and turned to the door. His eyes met Olivia's, and she looked like she'd never seen him before. It made him feel sick. He had to get out of there, now, he could taste bile rising in his throat.

"Peter..." He heard her say softly as he made his way past her and back into the conference room where Walter waited.

"Here Walter, it's the list of chemicals you needed to make Agent Scott's cure." He tossed it in his father's general direction, and rushed towards a unisex bathroom he'd seen on the way in.

Throwing the door open, he barely made it to his knees in front of the closest toilet, before everything in his stomach came up at once. He heaved into the toilet again, his stomach constricting painfully. He gasped when it was over, eyes closed, trying to fight back the disgust he felt at himself. He'd lost control of himself in that interrogation room for a moment...and in front Olivia.

He heard the restroom door open behind him and someone walk inside. _Great_, _a spectator is just what I need,_ he thought. Footsteps approached the stall door he'd left open, then entered behind him. He froze, not sure what do.

A hand fell on his shoulder, "Peter."

It was her. She'd followed him in here. Had she come to arrest him?

"Are you okay?" Olivia's tone was neutral. The hand pulled away.

He slowly got to his feet and flushed the toilet, not wanting to turn around and see her face, but knowing he would have to bite that bullet eventually.

"Sorry about that." he said, not specifying for what, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You didn't have to do that." She said after he didn't elaborate.

"I know I didn't. But...you couldn't, and...he wasn't going to talk...at last not in time to help John." Peter said truthfully, and turned around to face her.

There was a moment of silence before she nodded uncertainly. "I shouldn't say this...but thank you." She said softly in a grateful voice.

Her thanks drew a sharp glance from him, and he stared at her in speculation. She appeared to be sincere.

"So what now?" He asked her after another silence.

"Stieg will be admitted to Boston General for the night for observation." Seeing something on his face she added, "It's standard procedure, he would have been going there anyway."

Peter could see that she thought he was concerned about how damaged Stieg's hand was. He didn't give a shit about Stieg. It was the pleasure he felt at seeing the terror in the man's eyes that concerned him. He thought he'd left that part of himself behind with Big Eddie.

Peter swallowed thickly, "I meant about me...I unplugged all the camera feeds into the room before I...you know. So none of that was recorded, if that makes any difference." He offered in a small voice, not sure if he'd put her in a difficult position.

She regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "I didn't see a thing." Olivia said after a moment, and then to his astonishment, gave him a little wink.

"Walter's waiting for us outside." She said as she spun on her heels, and started for the door. "We need to get back to the lab." She added over her shoulder, meeting his gaze one last time, before leaving the restroom.

Peter felt a slow smile form on his face as cleaned himself up. The woman never ceased to amaze him.

* * *

**Olivia** listened as Walter and Peter discussed the possible potential methods for curing John as she pulled her sedan into a spot at the Kresge Building. The two of them had been going at it the whole way back to the lab, with the talk being light years over her head, and eventually just becoming a blur of voices in the background. She got out of the car along with the Bishops, who hurried in the direction of the lab as they continued their discussion without pause. There was a crowd of students in the quad, apparently classes had just ended, and Olivia felt out of place in their midst, as they went against the flow of traffic.

Trailing behind the Bishops a bit as they walked, she noticed how similarly the two men spoke, both using their hands to gesture expressively, like orchestral conductors competing against one another. Olivia was certain that Peter would deny it strenuously if she made the comparison, which made her smirk in amusement at the image it stirred up.

Now that they were closing in on the lab and John, the possibility that he might be cured started to feel a bit more real. Although it had only been a week since he'd been injured, with everything she'd gone through since then, it seemed like it had been ten times as long. It was like she'd become desensitized to John being on brink of death, if that were possible. Like he'd been that way for so long that it just didn't have the same impact as it did. The thought disturbed her.

Idly, Olivia wondered what John would think...will think of Peter when he wakes up. He'd probably hate him, if she knew John at all. He had little tolerance for those he perceived to be the so-called slackers of the world, it was a fault of his she put up with. Either that or Peter would charm him, as he had with Charlie to an extent, and as he had with her, she realized.

Looking ahead, she saw that she had fallen quite far behind the father and son, so she hurried and caught up with them as they entered the lab. Astrid was still there, waiting for them at table near John's gurney. She hurried over to them when she heard them enter.

"Agent Dunham! You guys are back just in time, I don't think Agent Scott is doing so good." She said in a worried voice.

Walter followed her back over to John, and looked over his vitals. "This young lady is correct, the crystallization appears to be accelerating. We must hurry Peter, time is of the essence!"

"Okay," Peter replied, "but we still need to come up with a way to distribute the counteragent before it-"

"The active toxin was a magnesium based ethylene-glycol, Peter." Walter broke in.

"I understand that, Walter. You're not listening to me." Peter said, sounding exasperated at Walter's refusal to let him finish.

"What? It was magnesium ethylene glycol with an organophosphate trigger. We need to create-" Walter was saying as he pulled on an old white lab coat.

Peter interrupted, grabbing his father's arm. "Look Walter, I know what you're saying, but just stop for a second." When he was sure that he had his father's attention, he continued. "His blood won't be able to absorb the counteragent before the side effects kill him. The point is to _save_ his life, remember?"

His father stopped and considered his words. Olivia could almost hear the gears turning in his head. After a moment, his eyes narrowed and he gave Peter a sharp look.

"Of course I remember, Peter. So you're saying what? That we synthesize a calcium gluconate with a thiamine base as a bonding agent?" Walter sounded skeptical.

"Yes, thats exactly what I'm saying, Walter. What I've been trying to tell you." He sounded relieved at finally getting his point across.

After a moment Walter replied, "Thats a good idea son, of course it's wrong, but a good idea nonetheless."

Peter shook his head in denial. "How is it wrong, Walter? With the thiamine base we would be able to-"

"to distribute it into his bloodstream?" Walter finished for him. "We can't. We would need more of his own blood. A lot more. We have none."

That seemed to stump Peter, as he had no response to offer. Olivia looked back and forth between the two men, waiting for them come up with something else, surely they must have another idea. She heard Astrid clear her throat and looked over at her.

"Agent Dunham?" she said hesitantly, "Aren't field agents required to have blood drawn a few times a year? They mentioned it in one of my classes at Quantico."

Olivia blinked. _Of course! Thank you Astrid! You deserve a medal. _Olivia was rejoicing in her head. She should have remembered that, she'd had hers drawn a few weeks ago.

"Peter! Walter!" she said loudly to get their attention. Both men turned to her expectantly. "As Agent Farnsworth just reminded me, field agents are required to have monthly blood draws for a backup blood supply in case they're injured in the field. John has had his recently." She remembered him complaining about it not long ago.

"An autologous transfusion!" Walter exclaimed. "That's brilliant Agent Dunham. How many units is this supply?"

"I'm not really sure." Olivia replied slowly. "Do you have any idea Astrid?" She asked the younger woman.

"I think I remember it being only a unit or two." she replied helpfully.

"I think one unit is enough, Walter," Peter said, excitement in his voice. "we can create the antidote and then just dissolve it in the stored blood. If we transfuse him intravenously, his body won't be overwhelmed by the counteragent.

"I believe you may be right, son. Well done! A-pluses all around! Now lets get to work!" Walter said, clapping Peter on the back.

Olivia watched for a few minutes as the men started their preparations for making the cure. Peter actually donned one of Walter's old lab coats, much to her amusement. He looked so out of place, but moved about the lab as if he'd been working there for years. She remembered his fake enrollment and degree from MIT. Maybe he wasn't so out of place, after all, he did use to be a chemistry professor. She smiled to herself as she pictured him in a lab class, probably wearing a similar coat, explaining this or that to a roomful of undergrads. She had seen Walter's brilliance in action already, experienced it, really, and she knew academically at least, that Peter was nearly as smart, but there hadn't really been any chances for him to display it as of yet. He was making up for it now.

She turned to Astrid, who was standing next to her observing the men at work. "Astrid? Can you call the Federal Building and arrange to have John's blood sent over?" Olivia asked the other woman.

"Of course, Agent Dunham. I'll get right on it." she said with a smile on her face.

"Astrid, you can call me Olivia, if you want to..." she told the young agent gratefully, "Thank you for remembering about the backup blood supply, I don't think I would have."

Astrid returned her smile, "Your welcome Olivia. But, I think you would have remembered, eventually."

Olivia wasn't so sure. She needed sleep, in a bad way. She'd only had a few hours on the plane back from Iraq, and maybe an hour the night before she'd gone in the tank in the last forty eight hours. It would have to wait. Lucky for her, Astrid had been keeping the coffee pot full and fresh. After pouring herself a large cup, she sat down on the bench outside the office and went over everything that had happened earlier in the day. From the tank, to finding Stieg, to his capture by Peter, it had been really busy day.

Olivia's thoughts returned to the scene in the interrogation room that she'd walked in on. She had frozen, trying to comprehend what Peter was doing in there with Stieg. And when he'd told her to shut the door, she had thought she understood. But she'd been wrong, the sheer brutality of it had shocked her, it had been so sudden and unexpected. It was a side to Peter she hadn't expected, or ever wanted to know about, she realized. It was only after finding him in the restroom afterwards, did she truly understand what he'd been doing, and what it had done to him in return. He'd been giving her the gift of saving John's life, and taking the burden of having to...torture someone to do it off her shoulders. Because he'd been right, Stieg wouldn't have talked, not before it was too late. It had been the only way, and Olivia knew that she would have never been able to do what he'd done. She didn't know what she'd done to inspire him to do such a thing for her. Olivia didn't know what to make of it, or him. It was probably for the best that he would be leaving soon.

Eventually the John's backup blood supply arrived, in a large cooler with a biohazard sticker on the side. She signed for it and brought it into the lab, setting the cooler on a table next to John. As Walter started making preparations for the transfusion, she felt anxiety building in her, and decided she needed to get some fresh air.

Olivia made her way out of the basement and to the lobby on the first floor, intending to go for a short walk around campus. To her surprise, she ran into Agent Broyles on her way out. He was wearing his brown trenchcoat and carrying a black briefcase and turned to follow her as she walked past. She sat down on a nearby bench and waited for him to join her, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion.

"So, I see you got the lab up and running." he said as he sat down on the opposite end of the bench.

"Yeah," she replied uncertainly, "Thanks for setting that up for us." He was being uncharacteristically pleasant, and she wasn't sure why.

"I heard you needed Agent Scott's backup blood supply. How's it going downstairs?" he said conversationally.

"Well, Dr. Bishop has managed to create an antidote, and he needed the blood supply to administer it. He said it could take a while, but that things are looking auspicious, his words." Olivia said, watching him carefully. He didn't reply, but just stared at her. "What?" she said after a moment, wanting him to just spit out whatever she was in trouble for now.

"You've done some really solid work here, Agent Dunham." he said, nodding his head slowly. "From recognizing Bishop as someone who could help, and locating him, to getting him out and finding a way to get him to work with you."

Olivia could feel her face growing hot at his praise. _Okay, not at all what I thought he was going to say._

"Not to mention finding the man responsible for Flight 627 in the process, and apprehending him yourself." Broyles continued. "We're impressed, Dunham."

"Who's we?" she countered, her eyes narrowing. She suspected the real reason he was here would be forthcoming.

"There are some that think that what happened on that plane might be more dangerous than simple terrorism." he said, watching her reaction closely.

"_Simple_ terrorism?" she said, stressing the simple. "There was nothing simple at all about what happened on that plane. What are you referring to?" There was something going on here, this conversation, it was beginning to have the flavor of recruitment to it.

Broyles opened his briefcase and took out several worn file folders. He opened one and flipped through it, though Olivia suspected he wasn't really looking at it, but using it as a ruse to arrange his thoughts before he spoke. Finally he looked up at her.

"In the past nine months, there's been three dozen authenticated incidents like the Hamburg flight. Most of what I'm about to show you has not been made public." He said as he opened another file.

_Three dozen incidents? _"What are you saying?" She managed to get out uneasily. Surely he didn't mean the toxin had been used that many times before now. She would have had to heard something.

Nodding at the file, he continued, ignoring her question. "John Thompson, normal kid. Went missing back in '98. Reappeared last month, half way around the world, he hadn't aged a day. In the past few months, forty six other children who went missing that same year turn up. Same story."

Olivia felt her eyes widening as he spoke. What the hell was he saying this to her for? She felt her head start to shake in denial at his words. This couldn't be real.

"Local fishermen off the coast of Sri Lanka." Broyles said opening another file. "Reports a low flying plane emitting a high pitched frequency that blows out all their windows. An hour later, same spot, an 8.7 subsurface earthquake creates a tsunami that kills 38,000 people." he finished, looking at her expectantly.

"Why are you telling me this?" She already knew why he was telling her these things. It was recruitment, after all. But she wanted no part of it.

Still ignoring her questions, he opened yet another file. "This man. A patient in Lisbon who woke up after years in a coma. Began writing, just numbers. They turn out to be exact real time coordinates of our Carrier Battle Groups in the Pacific. Intel that's classified above Top Secret."

Olivia wanted him to stop, she didn't want to hear any more of this. Her world view had already been trashed by Walter's tank, she didn't know how much more she could take. "How is that even possible?" she said breathlessly. She felt like a deer caught in headlights. _Here it comes._

"Come work for me and find out. I'll get you the clearance."

And there it was, the offer. Shaking her head and rising out of her seat, Olivia said "Stop! I don't want to hear this!" She started for the exit, wanting to get away from him and what he represented.

"There's more you have to hear, Dunham." Broyles replied, standing also, and following close behind her.

"You must not have heard me, I don't want to hear this, I don't want anything to do with this!" She pleaded with him.

"They're calling these events "The Pattern." She heard him say from behind her. "As if someone out there is experimenting, only the whole world is their lab. You've seen it now. You know." He grabbed her arm and stopped her as he spoke.

What he said resonated with her, brought back her conversation with Nina Sharp.

_Do you believe that Stieg may part of The Pattern?_

_I'm sorry, did you say part of the…pattern?_

_Oh, I assumed you had clearance._

_Well…I'm cleared to know whatever you're cleared to know, Ms. Sharp._

_Apparently not. But, suffice to say, that we've reached the point where science and technology have advanced at such an exponential rate for so long, it may be way beyond our ability to regulate and control them._

Olivia's head was still shaking in denial, it seemed to be an involuntary reaction to what he was saying. "I don't want to know about this. I have a job." she said vehemently.

"This is a more important job." Broyles replied, dead serious. "Anybody or anything you need, you can have."

With what he'd just said, she should be jumping for joy. But this...it was too much. "I like the job I've got. And the man I do it with, which you seem have deduced on your own." She was desperate now, could feel herself being cornered by duty.

"Take a look around. You see all these people going about their lives?" He said, gesturing to the civilians walking by, unaware of the bomb he was dropping on her. "They've got no idea what's happening around them, and what they're in the middle of. We can save a lot of lives, Dunham. Come work for me." He stared into her eyes, letting her see the sincerity of his words in his.

Olivia could feel herself being stretched in two, by her duty that she had sworn to, and her old life, before all this madness. "I just want to go back to before." she said softly.

Broyles gave her a compassionate look before saying gently, "Dunham, I don't think you can."

Their eyes met and Olivia could see the truth in his, however much she hated seeing it there.

"Just think about it." he said.

She could only nod in return. Deep down she already knew what her answer must be, but she wasn't ready to admit it, even to herself.

Agent Broyles turned and walked away through the crowd of students, leaving Olivia behind with her world knocked off kilter.

* * *

**Peter** watched as Walter started the intravenous transfusion. He had tried to sound confident when they had been discussing ways to administer the cure in front of Olivia, but the truth was, he wasn't sure at all that this was going to work. There was a big difference between doing something like this on paper and out loud, and doing it in reality.

"How long do you think this will take Walter? Before we know if it's working or not." He asked his father.

Walter was standing over Agent Scott's body, rubbing his chin while he watched the vitals machine. "Difficult to say, son. I would think that if it works at all, we will see the signs of improvement fairly quickly," He met Peter's eye and added, "and if it's going to kill him, we will know that quickly as well. He left Peter's side and returned to lab table where he appeared to be preparing a slide for viewing.

He should have known his father wasn't as confident as he had appeared, either. It was something he needed to remember, that his father could be a pretty good actor, if it suited him.

Working on the antidote with Walter had been enlightening experience. Peter knew his way around a chemistry lab, he'd been chemistry professor after all, but Walter was on a different level altogether. He realized his father might have been a truly great man, if not for his imprisonment. He thought of William Bell, and Massive Dynamic, and how different his own life would have turned out if not for the fire. Shaking off those depressing thoughts he turned his attention back to John Scott.

It was interesting watching the blood diffuse throughout his body. He could see the path the it took through his circulatory system, making each artery and vein it passed through visible again through his translucent flesh. At first, the new blood would only stay visible for a short amount of time before turning clear, but all of the sudden, a critical mass seemed to be reached, and the blood spiderwebbed throughout his body. Patches of color started to bloom on his chest, then up and down his and and legs.

"Walter! Check this out, I think it might be working." He called over to his father, where he was bending over a microscope.

Walter rushed over and looked over Agent Scott. "Astute observation, son. It shouldn't be long now, you should go find your lady friend, I'm sure she will want to see this."

Peter looked around, hoping Astrid hadn't heard his remark from where she sat tapping away at her keyboard. Rolling his eyes, he said "She's not my...I barely know her, Walter. And this is her boyfriend we are attempting to cure here, remember?"

Seeing that Walter was ignoring him, he looked over at Astrid. "Have you seen Olivia, Astrid?"

The junior agent looked up from her workstation, "I think she's outside the lab in the lobby. I thought I heard her on the phone."

Peter nodded, and went in search of Olivia. He found her with her face in her hands on a bench on the first floor. "Olivia!" He called as he approached. She looked up immediately, he noticed she looked extremely pale. "Are you okay?" he asked. She didn't look okay, she looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"I'm fine," Olivia answered without hesitation. "Is something wrong?" she said getting to her feet.

"No, actually I came to tell you that we think it's working. The antidote, I mean." he replied, smiling as her eyes grew large at his words.

"It's working? You mean he's gonna be okay?" She was already moving in the direction of the lab as she spoke.

"Well, it's looking that way." he said from her side as they headed down the steps to the basement level.

When they reached the bottom she stopped and turned to him. "Peter," she said looking straight into his eyes, "I...I just want to say that none of this would have been possible without you, and...I just...Thank you, thank you so much. For all of it."

He didn't think her eyes had ever looked as big as they did at that moment, and found himself unable to look away. "Well...it was really Walter...I mean...I didn't..." he stammered before she interrupted.

"No, Walter may have come up with the cure, but it was only because _you_ agreed to let him out, and _you_ got Stieg to talk, and...and...I know none of that was easy for you." She said, stepping closer to him.

Peter wasn't sure how it happened, but suddenly her arms were around him, and then he felt her lips brush his cheek, and he heard another _"__Thank you."_ barely audible to his ears before she pulled away from him, but still held his gaze.

He didn't say anything in response, just stood there stunned. This was the last thing he would have expected her to do. He finally blinked and nodded, "Don't mention it." he said hoarsely around a golf ball size lump in his throat.

Olivia smiled, then turned and walked into the lab.

Peter exhaled a huge breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His hand found its way up to his cheek where her lips had been. _You've got it bad now, Bishop, _the thought came, skittering through is mind. He swallowed down that golf ball and tried to regroup to some semblance of normalcy.

Just when his breathing had returned to normal, he heard Walter shouting from the lab.

"He's up! He's awake! Peter, He's awake!"

Rushing forward Peter entered the lab. They were all gathered around John Scott, Olivia hovering over him. He walked down the steps next to Astrid and watched the proceedings. John's skin tone was almost normal again, no longer translucent. There were still some capillaries and veins visible through his epidermis, but still, the guy looked about a million times better.

"John? John?" Olivia was saying softly. "Can you hear me, baby? Baby?"

"I had a dream about you...where am I?"

Olivia smiled, tears in her eyes. "You're in a lab at Harvard. You were injured in an explosion. Do you remember?"

Peter saw John attempt to shake his head, but it must have hurt because he gasped at the movement.

He felt his throat starting to constrict again at the joy on Olivia's face. He was happy for her. She'd been through hell.

"Agent Dunham?" Walter said moving next to her. "He really should rest. It would be probably be best if he were transferred back to the hospital. The lab is not the best place to convalesce."

Peter definitely agreed with that. The lab was like a dungeon, and about as clean. He looked at Astrid, getting her attention and nodding in the couple's direction. She nodded her agreement in return.

"Olivia?" Astrid said softly. "I'll make the arrangements to have Agent Scott transferred back to Boston General, okay?" She left them and walked into the office to make the call.

Olivia nodded, keeping her eyes on John. Peter feeling uncomfortable, and like he was intruding, joined Walter as he cleaned some equipment in another part of the lab.

"Well Walter, you did it." he told his father, leaning against a lab table as they watched the couple discreetly.

Olivia was leaning over John, whispering something in his ear, then laughing quietly at his response. He _was_ happy for her.

.

.

.

.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

.

**-Brighton, Ma**

**Olivia** woke up that morning feeling like she was floating on air, having just had the best night of sleep that she'd had in over a week. The feeling stayed with her as she went about her morning routine of sit-ups and push-ups, and her long, hot shower afterwards, and even through her unusually difficult crossword puzzle she worked on while drinking coffee at her kitchen table. Later, as she brushed her hair out in front of the mirror in her bathroom, a smile kept reforming on her lips, and she eventually just let it stay there. And why shouldn't she? Not even the thought of Agent Broyles, and his job offer could spoil her mood this morning.

_John is going to be okay_. The thought had been running through her mind in a loop all morning since she'd woken up. She had done it, or rather, Peter and Walter had done it, but it amounted to the same thing. Olivia still marveled at the thought that the doctors and CDC people had written him off, and yet there he was, almost as good as new, or he would be soon if Walter was correct. At this point, it would be hard to doubt anything the man said, though no doubt, it wouldn't stop Peter from doing so.

Thinking of Peter, she wondered where he'd been when the transport ambulance had arrived at the lab. She had wanted to introduce him to John before he left, but he'd been nowhere in sight, with Walter only saying that he'd gone for a walk. Olivia had asked Astrid to take them back to their hotel when Peter turned up, and she planned on stopping by there, later that afternoon to say goodbye to them. With John on the mend, their services would no longer be required, sadly. Would Peter return Walter to St. Claire's? Olivia wasn't sure, but it was something else she had meant to ask him before he pulled his disappearing act.

She had been at the hospital until visiting hours ended the night before, sitting by John's side, getting him up to date on the latest happenings with Flight 627, and how he'd ended up in Walter Bishop's lab. She wasn't sure how much he understood of what she was telling him, they'd put him on IV painkillers, and he had been pretty out of it most of the time. The talking had been mostly for her own benefit, to keep herself from passing out from sheer exhaustion. The high of his awakening had been wearing off, and the last few days had all started to catch up with her at once, which was why she decided to sleep in her own bed instead of slumped over in the hospital chair.

Glancing down at her watch, Olivia realized she'd been standing in front of her mirror, staring at herself think for the last ten minutes, with her brush unused in her hand. She was running late. She quickly brushed her teeth, and pulled on her work suit, with a navy colored blouse. After pulling her hair back in a tight ponytail, she grabbed her black coat, keys, and her weapon, then trotted out to her vehicle, wincing as the wind whipped through her open coat.

Her first stop for the day would be John's apartment in Bay Village, to pick up a change of clothes for him to wear when he was released. As Olivia merged onto I-90 from The Pike, she thought about the fact that this would only be her second time going to John's place. The other time being when, coincidentally, he'd needed another change of clothes after being caught out in a downpour at a crime scene. They'd both been completely drenched, and she had been so embarrassed by the effect the water had had on her white blouse, which John had given her so much shit over, the big jerk. Olivia smiled fondly at the memory, but at the same time was troubled over the fact that their relationship up to this point had been so secretive. Olivia understood his reasoning, but she didn't like it. She intended to do something about it once he was back on his feet.

Olivia managed to find on street parking close by his apartment, and was in and out in less than five minutes with a fresh suit, shirt, and a pair of block boxer briefs and socks. After stowing them in her trunk, she dialed Charlie's number on her phone, hoping he would pick up quickly, which he did on the second ring.

"Livvy, I heard the good news. How's he doing?" Charlie asked, getting straight to the point.

"Hey, Charlie. He's doing...well...he's doing great." she said smiling again.

"So the elder Bishop did it, huh? I'm not gonna lie and say I had a lot confidence, but that's great. What do you need? You should be with him." he said suspiciously.

"I'm on my way to the hospital now to see him now, Charlie. Don't worry about me." she said, shaking her head at how well he knew her. "I actually called to see if Stieg was still at Boston General. I had some more questions for him."

Charlie paused before responding, "These questions you have, they're not going to involve him suddenly having more mysterious injuries show up, ones that I don't remember being there, do they?" he said, with false nonchalance.

Olivia grimaced at his tone, she knew that he knew, maybe not all the details, but enough to make an accurate supposition. "Charlie...I-"

"At least tell me you had the sense to turn off the recorder?" he interrupted her.

She swallowed before answering, "Peter turned it off...he said he unplugged it." she finished, wincing at what was sure to come next.

"Bishop again? This was his doing? I don't like this, Liv. I don't like this at all. That guy's becoming a real bad influence on you." His voice had that overprotective thing going on, and she didn't like it one bit right now.

"Charlie,_ that guy's _name is Peter, and if he hadn't done what he did, John would be dead right now." Olivia retaliated, her voice raising an octave. It seemed like she'd been saying that a lot lately.

"When you first met him, you said you didn't trust him." Charlie said, not backing down a hair. "Do you trust him now?"

She didn't even have to think about it this time. "I do." she replied without hesitation.

"With your ass? Cause that's what's gonna be on the line if this gets out." he said and waited for her response.

"I said I do, Charlie."

There was another pause longer this time, then finally, "Okay...if you trust him…I trust you…So whatever, Stieg didn't really seem like he wanted to talk about it anyway, but you never know, the media got hold of this somehow...the Bureau doesn't need that kind of publicity."

"I understand, Charlie. It won't happen again...and Peter's leaving today anyway." she said, feeling strangely unsettled at the thought.

There was a pause then, "That's good enough for me. Maybe I'll catch you at the hospital. Talk to later, Liv."

"Bye, Charlie." she said, ending the call and leaning back against her car door. She let out a deep breath, _And you thought your good mood would last all day_, she said to herself as she slid into the driver's seat.

.

Olivia felt the smile try to fight its way back onto her face as she waited for the elevator to arrive at John's floor. She felt the telltale rise and fall in her stomach as the elevator's momentum halted, and heard the bell announcing its arrival. The doors slid open and she had to step around a nurse wearing blue scrubs with a stethoscope hanging around her neck. Their eyes met as they passed each other, the nurse flashing a smile, which Olivia returned with a genuine smile of her own.

They had given him in a room in the general medical wing, instead of the ICU, and the halls were crowded with visitors and medical staff alike. She made her way through the crowds and spotted Dr. Reyes leaving John's room as she approached. She hurried to catch him before he was out of sight.

"Dr. Reyes!" she called from a few paces behind him.

He turned and smiled as she drew near. "Agent Dunham. How's the head?"

"It's doing fine, no more pain." she said. "I came to drop off some clothes for Agent Scott, and see how he was doing?"

"He's doing very well, all things considered. Your specialists, they really did an amazing thing with him. Do you happen to know how they did it?" he asked curiously. She could tell he was more than a little impressed at John's turnaround.

Olivia didn't really know what to tell him though, Peter and Walter's discussions over the cure had been meaningless to her. "You would have to ask Dr. Bishop, all I know is that they needed John's backup blood supply to do it." she offered with a shrug.

Dr. Reyes nodded, and she continued. "Do you have any idea how long he'll need to be admitted for?"

"Well, at least until the melanoma sites in his skin are regenerated, but that shouldn't be more than a week. I don't know you did it, but he owes you his life." he said, shaking head.

Olivia smiled at his compliment. "We owe each other, he would have done it for me."

Their eyes met momentarily before she spoke again, "Do you know what room Richard Stieg is in?"

"The man your people brought in for precaution? Actually, I was just going to see him. He has room just down the hall." He gestured in the direction that he'd been going before she had stopped him. "A few doors down, on the right."

"Thank you, Dr. Reyes." she said, and turned back to John's room. As she approached his door and looked through the narrow window set in it, she could see his feet shifting under the bed covers. He was awake.

Olivia quietly opened the door and snuck inside. John was propped up against the headboard with the tuner in hand, flipping through the channels with a bored look on his face. The waxy look his skin had previously was gone, and other than a few remaining capillaries visible still, he looked almost back to normal. He looked up at her entrance and smiled as his eyes met hers.

"Liv! I'm so glad you're here! You gotta rescue me from this place." he said, his blue eyes twinkling.

Olivia laughed, it was so good to hear his voice again. "I'm sorry, baby, but you're gonna be stuck here for a while longer, doctors orders. I brought you some clothes though." She hung his suit up in the closet and sat down next to him on the edge of his bed. They stared at each other for a few moments before she leaned over and kissed his lips, relishing the feel of them against hers again. Their tongues met and intertwined, before she pulled away, and leaned her head against his, breathing in his air.

"I was so worried about you, John. Do you remember anything from yesterday?" she asked softly, fighting back tears.

"Not much after waking up," he said just as softly, "just flashes really, they drugged me up pretty quickly."

Sitting back, rubbing her eyes, before saying with a little laugh, "God, John, you don't want know what I've been through these last few days. I don't even know where to begin."

"Do I remember seeing a cow?" he asked, confusion written on his face.

Olivia laughed again, "Yeah, that's Walter's cow, Gene."

"Walter...he was the old crazy guy right?" John asked, eyes narrowed in thought.

"Yep, he's Peter's father, otherwise known as Dr. Bishop. And they, are the reason you're still with me." She said smiling, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Who's Peter, I don't remember hearing about him." he asked through a big yawn.

Olivia considered what to tell him about Peter. His criminal background, his suspected infatuation with her, and the fact that she had kissed him on the cheek, were probably not good topics for discussion at the moment. Not that she would lie to him about it, but it would be better to bring those things up once Peter was gone. "He's the guy I had to go find in Iraq. Long story short, he helped me catch Stieg, got him to talk, and then helped Walter make the cure for you. He's a friend." She said, noticing a strange expression on John's face.

"Stieg?" John asked, watching her very closely.

"Yeah, the guy responsible for Flight 627, and for blowing up that lab in your face. I'm about to try and get some more out of him." She looked at him for a moment, there was something on his face, he seemed...shocked? "Why, do you know him?" she asked, confused at the way he was acting.

"I thought he was on the plane, I remember his name from the passenger list." He replied, appearing to be confused at how he could be in the hospital.

_Of course, he thinks he's dead, _she thought. "No, the guy on the plane was Morgan Stieg. His twin brother Richard is the one responsible, for everything so far." She said watching John's eyes grow wide at this. "Yeah, I was confused at first, too." she added.

"What's he said so far?" John asked, "Any other accomplices?"

She shook her head, "All he's given us so far were the chemicals in the lab, so we could make the cure for you." She stood and grabbed coat. "I'm actually heading to his room now."

"He's here?" John asked sharply.

"Yeah, just down the hall." she said, curious at his tone, "Standard procedure for detained runner, remember? And he might have hurt his hand a bit." she said, leaning over and giving him a peck on the lips. "I'll see you later, okay?"

He touched her cheek lightly, running his fingertips along her jaw. "Okay, Liv. Maybe you can bring me some real food when you come back?" he asked hopefully.

She rolled her eyes affectionately, "I'll see what I can do." Olivia said, "Why don't you get some sleep? You gonna need to keep your strength up." she added, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

John rolled over, "You're killing me, Liv" he said over his shoulder.

Olivia laughed, and turned to leave, throwing him a wave as she opened the door. Once she was outside, she leaned back against the wall, trying to will the huge grin off her face. Several nurses passed her by, giving her strange looks, but she ignored them. When she had herself back under control, she headed in the direction the doctor had told her, until she spotted a policeman standing guard outside a room.

"Agent Olivia Dunham." She told the officer, holder up her badge.

He nodded and let her by.

"Hello Mr. Stieg," she said, entering the room.

He looked up at the sound of her voice, giving her a scowl as she leaned against the counter opposite the bed he was strapped to.

"I told you everything I know, didn't I? And I gave you the names of all the synthetics I used in the compound." he said sullenly, as she watched him squirm under her gaze. "What else do you want from me?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Stieg." she said in a reasonable voice. "Your list of names allowed us to successfully cure my partner, our immunity agreement holds. But there's still a whole lot more we have to talk about, like why you killed your own brother. And who you're selling your work to?"

He smirked and shook his head at this, "Who said I was going to sell it?"

"What else would you do with it?" Olivia asked.

Stieg laughed, "I couldn't sell it, even if I wanted to." He said bitterly.

"And why is that?" Olivia said, tiring of his crypticness.

"Don't you get it? The people that I made that for, they have people everywhere. Even in your own office." he said bitterly.

"What are you talking about?" Olivia said suspiciously.

"Someone from your office, called me, threatened to kill me if I tried to sell it to anyone other than them." Stieg replied.

Olivia didn't respond right away, trying to absorb what he was saying. She didn't think he was lying, he seemed like he was almost desperate for her to believe him. He thought what he was saying was true, whether not his facts were correct was still up for debate. "How do you know they were from the FBI?"

Stieg let out mocking laugh, "Because that's what the…people I associated with called him, how they always referred to him, he was just the man from the FBI. You don't get real names from these people. At least I didn't." he said shaking his head and looking down at his bandaged hand. When she made no response, he looked up and met her eyes. "You think I'm lying, don't you? I swear to God, I can prove it." he added softly.

"How? " Olivia replied soberly, her blood pumping loudly in her ears. If he could prove it…she ran through agents she knew personally, and it was barely a handful. Hundreds of people worked in the Federal Building, it could be anyone of them, but she thought it likely that whoever it was would be a full agent, who had access.

"I recorded my last conversation with him." he answered, giving a little jerk to his restraints.

"Why? Were you expecting to get caught?" she asked, wondering if he was planning betrayal from the beginning.

He looked away from her, staring out the window, before he responded with a shake of his head, "Find the recording."

"Where is it?"

"I buried it. In the alley behind my lab, there's a…blue trashcan with no lid. Look underneath it." he instructed, still looking out the window.

"I will," she promised coldly, "and then, you will tell me everything I want to know."

Stieg hung his head and nodded, testing his restraints again.

Olivia left quickly, not informing anyone, even Charlie of what she was doing. If this was true, and there was a traitor in their midst...She had to protect herself, whoever it was would kill for the secret, of that she was sure. Not that she suspected Charlie, she had no doubts whatsoever about him, or John for that matter. She drove quickly back to Stieg's lab, and showed her badge to the officer who tried to stop her from crossing into the cordoned off crime scene. He quickly let her through at the cold expression on her face. She couldn't help it though, she was in dangerous, unchartered water here.

She walked around the perimeter of the dwelling, looking around as she went for anyone out of place or paying too close attention to her. _God, I'm paranoid already, _she said to herself, as she slipped into the alleyway between the house and the row of apartment buildings behind it. The alley had a thick layer of snow on it, and she could feel the cold starting to penetrate through her light boots to her toes. There was a row of trashcans on the left, near the other end of Stieg's house. The blue one Stieg had told her would be there, was sitting with no lid, in the middle of the row. Olivia moved towards it, and after again making sure she wasn't being observed, she quickly moved it aside and knelt down in the snow in front of where it had been sitting. There was a circle of clear ground underneath, and she began to dig through it, slowly at first, then with more urgency as she didn't find anything. Her motions became frantic, until her gloved fingers finally touched something in the wet earth.

Breathing hard from excitement at her discovery, she pulled out a plastic bag with a bundle wrapped object inside. Opening the bag, she pulled out the bundle and unwrapped it, revealing a clear plastic case with a mini cassette tape inside and a passport that appeared to be of U.K. origin. Olivia stood, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. She started back through the snow to her car, clutching the objects tightly in her coat pocket, not wanting to answer any questions from nosy agents or cops that were still on the scene.

Pulling open her car door, she got in and reached for her glove compartment, thinking she had an old cassette player that was compatible inside. Olivia found it a moment later under the mass of maps, receipts, and paper manuals, and reminded herself to clean it out sometime. She popped the tape out of its case and slid into her player, hoping that the batteries were still good, the thing hadn't been used in quite a while. Hitting the rewind button, she watched the heads begin to turn for a moment before they stopped with a click.

After staring at the play button for a few seconds as if it might bite, she slowly pressed it down, feeling her pulse race in anticipation of its contents. There was a hiss, then a clicking sound, and then she heard voices, one of them being identifiable as Richard Stieg. The other…it wasn't as clear, but it sounded vaguely familiar to her, she cocked her toward the player listening closely.

"_...the airplane was a demonstration. I want-" _

That was Stieg's voice.

"_You've drawn unwarranted attention to something we can't afford to be connected with._" the other man's voice cut in angrily. _"I'll make this simple. You're not selling to anyone else. You do that, we will come after you. I will come after you, personally."_

Olivia's eyes began to grow wide. That voice…it sounded so familiar…almost like…

"_You're threatening me?" _Stieg said to the man arrogantly._" After seeing what I'm willing to do to my own brother?"_

"_Well let me assure you we'd be happy to treat you as family too." _ The other man said, ending the conversation.

Olivia jerked away from the player, dropping it on the passenger seat. She couldn't breathe, thought she might vomit like Peter had the other day. Her head shook in denial at what she'd heard. That phrase, she'd heard it before, recently. At Logan.

"_Well let me assure you, we'd be happy to treat you as family too. Good old NTSB, they all like to think they're cops." John said with a smirk on his face._

Olivia exhaled a large breath, found herself unable to think or move as the implications hit her like a punch in the face. Dazed, all she could come up with was, _It's John, it's John…_ repeating over and over like a broken record through her mind. She struggled to break her thoughts out of this rut, as she was hit with a kaleidoscope of images of him, with her, laughing, making love, smiling across from her on their first, date, the explosion, his condition, him waking up, in the hospital that morning…._Oh God, I told him about…Stieg…_ this thought jerked her into action, pulling her cell phone out and hitting Charlie's number, while starting the car with her other hand. She was squealing out of her spot when he answered.

"Liv, I'm at the hospital, where-" He started to say.

"Charlie!" she exclaimed over his words, "You need to go check on Stieg right now! We need two agents posted outside the room. Don't let anyone in, and…and…you need to take custody of John Scott."

"John?" Charlie said, surprised. "What the hell is going on?"

"Just do it Charlie!" she snapped furiously, feeling a furnace of rage starting to stoke to life within her, "I'm on my there now, I'll explain when I get there." She added in a calmer voice.

"Alright, I'm on it, Liv." There was a pause, and she could hear him giving orders in the background. Her tires shrieked in protest as she rounded a corner and gunned the engine onto Main Street, which would take her over The Charles, and into downtown Boston. She could hear many voices over the open line. "We're almost to Stiegs' room now," he reported, she heard him say something to someone else, then, he was back on the line, "Shit! Stieg's dead!"

"I'm five minutes out, Charlie!" she shouted into the phone.

She heard him yelling to lock the hospital down, and ended the call.

Olivia saw the hospital approaching on her left and barely slowed as she entered the parking lot. Accelerating through it, she skidded to a halt outside the emergency room entrance. She hopped out, and was about to rush through the sliding doors when a blue SUV caught her attention as it pulled out of a parking spot.

As she turned to watch it, the driver turned his head in her direction. _John!_ Their eyes met through the foggy passenger door window. _You bastard._ She started in his direction and he gunned the engine, racing towards the exit. She ran back to her car, calling the FBI dispatch at the same time. "This is Dunham, Agent I.D. number five-two-seven-seven-six, in pursuit of a blue SUV, heading south Beacon Street towards Fenway. Need immediate assist."

She tossed her phone on the seat next to her as she pulled out on to Beacon Street, and sped after the blue SUV. The streets were crowded with civilian vehicles, and she narrowly avoided hitting several as she swerved around a stalled car that was crumpled near the front wheel, where John must have sideswiped it racing through the intersection. There was a break in traffic ahead, and she pushed the pedal to the floor, hoping to gain some ground, as she could see many brake lights ahead of her.

As Olivia approached the next intersection, she could see the reason for all the lights. The blue SUV had struck the rear end of a passing mini van, spinning it around. There was a woman attempting to climb out of of the drivers seat, blood running down her face. The accident had slowed the blue SUV's progress, she could see him barely a block away now turning into a tunnel under an overpass. Going around the accident on the shoulder, she floored the gas pedal again and made the turn behind him into the tunnel. Several local PD cars flew around the corner behind her, joining in the chase. She accelerated through the traffic, with the police sirens helping clear the way, and soon found herself right behind John's vehicle.

Their eyes made contact through his rearview mirror, and she pulled into the lane next to him, and accelerated until they were side by side. Olivia looked over at John through the passenger window, trying to get a look at him. _Why are you doing this?_ A voice in her head shrieked at him. He turned his head in her direction, meeting her gaze. She tried to read the expression on his face, but it was foreign to her. _It's me, John! It's me! You said you loved me!_ She tried to say it with her eyes. _You said you loved me!_ She saw his jaw clench, and he turned sharply into her, their vehicles coming together with a crunch.

Olivia struggled to maintain control as the heavier SUV pushed her small sedan towards the guardrail. _This can't be happening,_ she thought frantically. _He's trying to kill me! _The SUV drifted away for a moment before John swerved again, harder this time, driving her into the concrete guardrail on her left. There was a horrific grinding noise and sparks flew up from the scraping metal.

She noticed construction cones ahead and just beyond them a large flatbed trailer, of the sort used to haul heavy equipment, and a large scaffolding for working on the bottom of the overpass they were under. It was empty, with the ramps down, as a hydraulic lift had just been unloaded, the construction crew upon hearing the racing engines and grinding metal had scattered. Olivia looked over at John, and saw that he appeared to not have noticed it yet. Her sedan crashed through the the first line of cones, spraying sand all over the windshield. She slammed down the brake pedal, breaking free of John's vehicle and turned hard to the right, spinning her car around and coming to a stop with the smell of burnt rubber strong in her nose. She looked back just in time to see John's break lights, and his SUV's sharp swerve to try avoid hitting the empty trailer. But it was too late, as his vehicle ran up the ramp on the right side, causing the blue SUV to flip, and barrel roll down the highway, crashing through the recently vacated scaffolding with a shower of broken glass and metal piping, and continuing to roll several more times before landing upside down, and skidding along the pavement into a line of crash barrels. Bluish water splashed up from the barrels as the vehicle came tore a line through them and came to a stop, gently rocking back and forth on its roof, wheels still spinning and smoke drifting up from the front end.

Olivia jumped from her car and sprinted towards the battered SUV, hearing the police cars coming to a stop behind her._ John! _Her mind was still shrieking at him as she approached, and saw him attempting to pull himself out through the drivers door window. There was blood all over his face, coming from large wound on his forehead, and as he struggled to breath she saw bubbles forming as it trickled out of his mouth. _Oh god._ She threw herself down and helped him roll over, so that his head ended up on her lap. Their eyes met and she could hear him struggling to speak, a wet gurgling sound rising from his throat, he coughed and rush of blood came up, running down his face and onto her lap.

"John, what have you done?" she whispered, unable to to take eyes from his.

One of his hand suddenly reached and pulled her face closer to his, with what must have been the last of his strength, as it fell limply away as she leaned closer.

"Ask yourself...why...Broyles..." he coughed again, releasing another mouthful of blood, then continued his voice getting fainter with each word. "sent you...to...the storage...facility." he whispered.

Olivia shook her head, "I don't understand...who were you working for?" she gasped as his body seized and grew stiff as he struggled to cough again, staring intensely into her eyes.

"Tell me more, John. Tell me more..." she stopped as his eyes suddenly lost focus. Olivia felt his body grow limp as she held it. She felt the sob building in her threatening to break loose, but forced it down at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Letting John lie back gently on the pavement, she rose and turned to face whoever was approaching. It was a pair of paramedics, with their medical kits swinging back and forth as they rushed towards her and John.

"Are you okay miss?" the first one asked as he came to a stop next to her. The other bent down over John, opening his kit.

Olivia nodded, "I'm fine." was all she said, and walked away from them towards the now useless ambulance. She needed to sit down before she fell down, so she walked through the growing crowd of cops on the scene, making a beeline for the uncomfortable looking back bumper of the ambulance. The cops took one look at her face, and stayed out of her way, refusing to even meet her eye. It was a good thing, because she didn't know what she would do if she had to interact with anyone at that moment. Sitting down on the bumper she, she felt a band of pain around her throat, and her vision blurred, as unwanted tears began to fall.

The first of the sobs broke through her demeanor, and she buried her face in her hands. She had been so happy this morning, and it was all in ruin. Her life, everything, was ruined. Another wave of sobs hit, and Olivia gave up trying to stop them, feeling a pain so intense that she could barely breathe roll over her. It was the pain of betrayal, and she thought she might die of it. In the midst of it all, she felt fury build in her at what he'd done to her, to them. _Was it all a fucking lie?_ Olivia felt like such a fool. _Never again! This will never happen again. _A voice raged inside her. She didn't know how to recover from this, where to go from here. She wanted pull out her gun and kill him again, and yet at the same time she wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on hers like she had that morning. _This is so fucked up,_ she thought, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

What was she supposed to do now? Her partner was dead, had betrayed her and the Bureau. Would they believe she was involved? Broyles knew they had been lovers, how could she show her face there? Looking around the scene, she saw the man himself heading her way, with Charlie in tow. They both looked grim.

Olivia stood as they approached, meeting them with her head high. Whatever happened next, she was going to face it on her feet.

"Agent Dunham." Broyles said, coming to a stop in front of her. "You okay?"

She shrugged, nodded her head slightly. "Yeah. Agent Scott is dead." she replied in a monotone voice.

"So I heard. What happened?" he asked neutrally.

"Well, apart from trying to kill me just now...he appears to have been a double agent, for whom, I don't know." she answered, her voice still mechanical sounding to her ears.

Broyles looked at her intensely at this, then looked over at Charlie, who had yet to speak. "Excuse us for a moment, Agent Francis." Turning back to Olivia, he guided her a short way away before speaking again.

"Whether or not Agent Scott was a double agent is not yet clear. It's not something that you need to focus on right now. Have you thought about my job offer?" he asked, changing the subject unexpectedly.

Olivia blinked in surprise, "Why would you still want me? My partner was a fucking traitor, and I never suspected a thing." she said, feeling the tears threatening to fall again, but forced them back. There was no way she was going to cry in front of him.

"And yet the moment you found out, you did the right thing without hesitation." he said confidently, not batting an eye at her cursing. "Sounds to me like you're the right man for the job, or woman in your case."

She felt an urge to laugh at his unexpected flash of humor, but couldn't muster up the energy to do so. "How do you expect me to investigate cases like those you mentioned before? What am I supposed to do? I'm not trained for things like that."

"I told you Dunham, anyone or anything you want, you can have." he replied meaningfully, looking at her intently.

Olivia returned his look, trying to figure out if he was trying to tell her something, or if he was just waiting for her answer, the man had face like granite. Did he really mean anyone? A thought struck her, and as soon as it hit, she knew it was the answer. Whether or not it was what he was trying to suggest without saying, she didn't know, but it was time to go for broke either way.

"I want Walter Bishop, and the lab, since that's the only place he'll want to work."

"What about the son?"

"Peter is part of the package. I don't think Walter would do it without him." Olivia watched him stew on it for a few seconds, "Oh, and someone else," she amended, "I want to keep Agent Farnsworth on as my assistant, if it's ok with her. And can I have Charlie too?" she added, seeing how far she could push it.

"Agent Francis has other duties, but you'll still be working with him on occasion. As for the Bishops and Agent Farnsworth, they're yours, assuming they are all willing." Broyles had a slight smile on his face as he finished.

"Okay then." Olivia said after a moment. She held her hand towards Broyles.

He took it, gave her a firm shake, and let go.

"Okay then." he said, and turned to go, "Dunham," he said over his shoulder, "You take care of yourself." He walked away before she could respond.

Olivia walked back to Charlie, who had been leaning against the ambulance, watching the two of them.

"Hey Charlie." she said in a tired voice.

"Liv. I'm sorry." He said simply.

"Yeah, me too. Can you take me out of here?" she asked sadly. She could see her car in the process of being towed.

"That I can do." Charlie said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "You're gonna be fine, kiddo, you know that right?"

Olivia nodded, and let herself be guided back to his vehicle. Maybe she would be, eventually. Leaning the seat back, she closed her eyes, and tried not think of anything at all as they drove.

Eventually, she opened her eyes and sat up. Charlie glanced over at her and gave her smile.

"I can't believe he's gone, Charlie." she said, feeling another tear on her cheek. "Why would he do this, and how could I not have known? How could I have worked with him for so long and not known? What the hell is wrong with me?" She felt more tears, and wiped them away angrily.

Charlie looked over at her with eyes full of regret. "I knew him just as long as you did, Liv. I'm sorry. Job isn't what it was ten years ago. We're supposed to protect the world, where one breath of the wrong air can incinerate you from the inside out. I mean, how do we protect people, when corporations have higher security clearances than we do? When we're not fully briefed on half the things that we're investigating. You know, when the truth, the truth is...we're obsolete." He said, sounding depressed at the thought.

When she didn't respond, he asked, "Where are we headed anyway? Back to your place?"

Olivia needed to talk to Peter, she had to convince him to stay. She needed him to stay, and she had to make him see that. But there could be no more lying to him, or trying to bluff him. She thought of his words before she had entered the tank.

_I hope your guy is worth it,_ he'd said cynically.

He'd been right. Olivia shook her head at the thought of telling him so. He'd probably rub it in, or maybe not, she thought after a moment. He was surprisingly considerate sometimes. It was funny, the con man was one of only two men left in her life that she still trusted, not that she would tell him that. She didn't know what that said about her...or him for that matter.

"I need to talk to Peter. Take me to their hotel."

Charlie looked over at her with narrowed eyes, "Bishop? What do you need to talk to him for, I thought he left." When she didn't reply, he was silent for a moment before adding, "What did Broyles want with you?"

Olivia turned to him, "He offered me a job."

"Really. And how does Bishop figure into that?" She could hear worry creeping back into his tone.

"Peter and his father will be part of it, if they agree to it." That was all she could really say at that point, she didn't know anything more herself.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Liv." He replied, "Because-"

"Don't you dare say something about you not trusting him." Olivia snapped before he could say anything more. "Because he hasn't wormed his way into my trust, then betrayed me, and tried to kill me. Like the supposed good guy did."

"I'm sorry, Charlie," she apologized after an awkward moment of silence. "That was out of line."

He shook it off, "Don't worry about it. You're right. I just want you to be careful."

"I will be. Don't you worry about that."

.

.

.

.


	14. Chapter 13 - End 1x01

**Chapter 13**

.

**-The Courtyard Hotel**

**Peter** woke that morning with an awful headache, it felt like there was a spiked ball bouncing around inside his head every time he moved, or heard Walter doing whatever it was he was doing at 7 a.m. To top it off, his mouth was so dry that it felt like he'd been eating cotton. Their second night together had not gone as smoothly as their first.

Before dropping them off at the hotel the night before, Astrid had taken them through a fast food drive-thru to grab some dinner, much to Walter's disgust. While they had eaten in their hotel room, Peter had had to listen to Walter's endless pontificating about the quality of the food they were eating, from the preservative's he could detect in the meat from taste alone, to the heart attack inducing cholesterol they were sure to be ingesting. And it had never stopped, eventually driving Peter from the room, and down to the mostly empty hotel bar, where he'd drank what seemed like his age in bottom shelf bourbon, much to his regret in the morning.

While he'd been sitting at the bar, he'd contemplated his future, and whether or not Walter would be a part of it. If Walter's ranting was any indication of what that would that would be like, Peter's wasn't sure at all that he was up for it, no matter how guilty he felt about the whole situation. After fending off an attack from an apparent cougar on the prowl, he'd staggered back up to the room, hallway tilting like the deck of a sinking ship. Only to find Walter passed out naked, spread eagle on the full size bed, snoring like a passing freight train, upon his return. Luckily, he'd been drunk enough that it hadn't taken him long to pass out, as much he was hating life at the moment.

"Walter!" he yelled out from his spot on the couch, "What are you doing that is so important, that it has to be done at seven o'clock in the morning?" He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, wincing in pain at the sound of his own voice.

"Peter! You're awake!" his father said jovially, sitting down on the coffee table in front him, thankfully clothed.

"Uhh...yeah, I am...no thanks to whatever it is you're doing. What are you doing?" Peter said from under his pillow.

"After those awful taco things we had for dinner last night," Walter said, his disgust still evident in his tone, "I've decided to take you to lunch today, and get some real food."

"Really." Peter said, slowly sitting up. "Did you come into some money recently?"

"Well, I would need to borrow some from you of course," his replied slyly, "Do you remember that place we used to get sandwiches at in Cambridge, when you were a boy?"

Peter nodded slowly, "I remember the place. _Pinocchio's_. They got a good steak and cheese. We used to go there a lot...Mom and I, before she..." he trailed off, looking away from Walter, grinding his teeth.

"Your mother...she always loved that place." his father said in a horribly sad voice. "She used to always get the eggplant parmigiana..." Walter stopped, clearing his throat. "I would so like to go there again, son. Can we?"

"Sure," Peter replied, after fighting off a wave of guilt, his voice melancholy, "that sounds good."

"I miss her, Peter" Walter's voice quavered after a few moments of silence. His eyes were glistening.

"Me too, Walter...me too." he replied softly, hoping it would be the end of that depressing subject. Peter didn't like talking about his mother, or what happened. Especially with the way his head was throbbing at the moment.

"It's not lunch time yet, Walter. Why don't you watch some cartoons, and let me get some more sleep." Peter said, staggering to his feet, and wishing he hadn't. "Maybe Spongebob is on."

"Spongepants?" Walter exclaimed, "That sounds delightful!"

Peter grabbed the remote, and tuned the tv to the appropriate channel, luckily finding what appeared to be a Spongebob marathon on some kids channel.

After downing a huge glass of water, he collapsed on the only bed in the room, not even caring that his father had been there not long ago in the state he'd found him last night. With Walter giggling at the kids show in the background, he struggled to fall back asleep. Instead, he kept finding his thoughts returning to the blond haired agent he'd been spending most of his time with over the last few days.

He had missed Olivia's and John Scott's departure from the lab. The realization hit, after watching the two of them interact, that it was over, this little vacation from his life she'd taken him on. He'd taken a walk, wanting to be alone to think about the future. He was going to miss her. He'd realized that even if he stayed in Boston with Walter, and that was a big if, Big Eddie was sure to find out he'd returned eventually. His time with her was at an end. It had been fun at least, once he'd gotten over the whole blackmailing thing. The girl was good. The thought had made him smile. He told himself that it had never been anything more than a boyish crush, and once he accepted that, he felt surprisingly good about the whole thing. He'd returned to the lab to say goodbye, only to find Olivia gone, to his disappointment. And she'd been looking for him too, as Walter had repeatedly pointed out on the car ride in front of Astrid, much to his annoyance. He could tell she had enjoyed his discomfort at the situation. Peter thought he would miss her too. Which left him with what to do with Walter.

Spending time with his father again, as annoying and maniacal as he could be at times, had stirred something in him, beyond the guilt he felt at abandoning him, and his mother, for that matter. He'd always had a strange relationship with him anyway. Walter had been a busy man, sometimes gone for days at a time, and when he would return...there had been an, almost harshness to him, that had made their relationship strained, at least on his end. The constant fighting with his mother hadn't helped at all either. But now, whatever had happened to him at St. Claire's had changed him, almost into a completely different man than he remembered. Could he send him back, knowing that? Peter didn't know. He had no contingencies in place for having a family again...

Peter woke from an intense dream about a pair of green eyes with a start, hearing what sounded like a sob from Walter on the couch. Sitting up, he noticed his head felt considerably better, the glass of water having done the trick, partially at least.

"What's wrong, Walter?" he asked, running his hands through his messy hair. He needed a shower before he went anywhere.

"Oh, you're awake again, son." Walter said wiping his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked again, getting out of the bed and stretching.

"It's this show, Peter. He didn't realize that the dog had been faithful to him." His father said, dabbing his eyes again, with the corner of the blanket Peter had used the night before. "He should have cloned him. He could have had what he'd lost, again."

Curious as to how that could be causing such distress, Peter moved over to the coffee table so he could see what Walter had been watching. _Of course. That was a sad episode, at the end._ It was a shame they had taken _Futurama_ off the air last year, apparently it was in reruns now.

"It's a cartoon Walter, and one in reruns at that. I don't think I'd take it quite so seriously, if I were you," he said with a laugh.

Walter looked at him with a sad smile. "You would if it was your dog." he said weakly.

Peter couldn't argue with that. "I'm gonna hop in the shower, then we can go to lunch, okay?" He said, moving towards the bathroom.

Walter waved him away unhappily, and turned back to the television.

.

The cab ride to Cambridge had been a trip down memory lane for both of them, as was the steak and cheese sandwich. It was as good as he remembered it being.

"So your mother took you here often after I...," Walter hesitated, looking down at his food. "...I had to go away."

Peter exhaled with a grunt, "I guess that's one way of putting it, Walter." They exchanged looks. "She...took me here sometimes, usually on Sundays for lunch." he said, looking out the window at the brick building across the narrow street. Swallowing, he said "Afterwards, if the weather was nice, we'd walk down JFK to the Charles, and that little park right there." He looked over at Walter, "You know the place?"

Walter had a stricken look on his face, "I knew it." was all he said.

Peter wondered if he had done the same with her. He supposed they had, they must have been happy at some point, just never with him around. He took a bite of his sub, wanting to fill the silence that had fallen between them.

He remembered sitting in this very booth with his mother, and Walter was right, she had been eating an eggplant parmigiana. The sub shop was very small, and he'd sat in every bench in the place, probably multiple times. The particular time he'd been thinking of was the Sunday after the fire. Walter had not come home the night before.

_"Peter," his mother had said, after they had finished eating. "I want to talk to you about something."_

_This had pulled his attention from the book he'd been reading. "About what?" he said, looking at her suspiciously. Usually when she said those words, it meant trouble for him._

_"You know your father didn't come home last night?" she asked him._

_Peter shrugged indifferently. He hadn't really thought about it. Walter spent the night at the lab sometimes. Especially when they were fighting._

_"There was an accident at your father's laboratory." she said, her accent coming through._

_"What kind of accident?"_

_"Your father is ok," she told him with a pained look. "but, one of his assistants was killed."_

_He realized that what she was telling him, was that his father wasn't coming home, maybe ever. "The cops are blaming it on Walter aren't they?" he concluded, shaking his head._

_She flinched slightly at his use of Walter's name, as she always did. "You may hear things...or...see them on news channels or in the papers, but you must know that your father loved you very much."_

_"I might hear what kind of things?" He could see that she was tearing up, and felt bad, but it didn't stop him from going on. "Was it an accident?"_

_She did tear up then, as they made wet trails down her cheek. "He's been arrested, and they're saying he's had a mental break..."_

She'd been sitting right where Walter was at this very moment, when that conversation had taken place. _That's messed up, _he said to himself. Looking over at his father, he saw that he was eating slowly, with a melancholy look on his face.

"What's up with you today, Walter? You've been like this all day."

"You're going to send me back aren't you? Back to that place." Walter said bluntly, without warning.

Peter closed his eyes, not sure how to deal with the situation, as he himself didn't know yet what he was going to do. He was still torn about the whole thing. "I don't know yet, Walter." he said finally, leaning back in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck. "I haven't decided. I don't know how _to_ decide."

"Son, I can't go back there." he whispered. "I can't. I don't think I'll survive it this time, Peter, having been outside, and awake again."

Peter sighed, rubbing his eyes and then his temples. "I don't know Walter, how would that work? I don't have a job here. Where would we live?" He didn't mention a certain shark named Big Eddie, circling the waters of Boston.

"I have money, Peter. Some investments that I-" Walter said urgently.

"I don't want your money, Walter." he cut in sharply, "I can take care of myself. That's what I've been doing since you got put away."

"Son, let me-"

"What happened with the fire, Walter?" he interrupted again. "That's the only thing I want to know right now." He realized he been waiting to ask that since he'd first seen him at St. Claire's.

His father looked down, staring blankly for several minutes, before finally replying when Peter had been about to get up.

"It was a chemical fire." Walter said suddenly, looking straight at him, as sane he'd seen him since he'd been out. "We were conducting an experiment in organic synthesis, attempting to create a new type of _Grignard _reaction."

Peter nodded, he was familiar with organic synthesis, in theory at least, if not in practice.

Walter smiled at his recognition, and went on. "My assistant was transferring t-butyl lithium from one container to another, and the plastic syringe she was using was damaged, and came apart in her hands. The butyl lithium ignited when it was exposed to the air, and..." he stopped, choked up, and exhaled before continuing. "the synthetic material her blouse was made of caught fire, and...and..." he stopped again, his forefinger and thumb rubbing together repeatedly. "It was determined that since I was in charge at the lab at the time, I was the one responsible. And they were right, Peter...My back was to her, or would I would have stopped her from using that particular syringe."

His father's eyes were teared up again, and Peter didn't know what to say. He'd worked with dangerous chemicals in the labs at MIT, with students as well. There had never been any accidents, but he did recall a near miss on one occasion. If it hadn't been a miss...he hadn't even been a real professor after all, he might still be in prison.

"So it was just an accident. It could have happened to anyone, Walter." He tried rationalizing with him. "Where was William Bell when this happened?"

"Belly wasn't in the lab as often those days. He'd always told me that the business side of it was just as important as the science." Walter said bitterly. "I suppose he was right, after all, look at what he's accomplished."

Bell had started Massive Dynamic's precursor in 1992, less than a year after Walter had been committed. Peter thought it might be wise to not mention that coincidence to him at the moment, his father was being incredibly lucid, and there was still more he wanted to know.

"So, how did you end up being committed, Walter?" Peter asked carefully, not sure how sensitive of subject this would be for his father. "Instead of just getting jail time?" he added softly.

His father didn't respond right away, taking several bites of his sandwich and a sip of drink before replying. Peter didn't push him, he thought that doing so would probably make him start to shut down.

After Walter appeared to work himself up to it, he began to speak. "The work we were doing in the lab those days, most of it was highly theoretical in nature." he paused and swallowed nervously before continuing. "We would occasionally require...test subjects...that we would select from the student body...volunteers only, of course." he said with a little smile on his face.

"Of course." Peter said uneasily. He had a sneaking suspicion where his father was going with this.

"The prosecution," he went on after clearing is throat, "they had several witnesses who had been former test subjects of mine...and they...they-"

"You experimented on them, didn't you, Walter?" he cut in, preventing him speaking further on it. "Let me guess, when these..._test subjects, _as you called them, described the things you did to them, that was all it took, wasn't it? Do not pass go, go straight to the loony bin. Am I right?"

"I was a different man back then, Peter." Walter said brokenly in his defense.

Peter didn't know what to think, he could picture the man he remembered growing up with, in the deranged mad scientist caricature very well, but not so much the man sitting in front him. The thought troubled him, sending his father back to St. Claire's would be unspeakably cruel if he was indeed a changed man. Sighing, he shook his head in frustration. He'd been hoping that hearing the story would let him decide what to do, one way or the other.

"C'mon, Walter." he said, getting to his feet and offering his father a hand. "Let's get out of here."

He pulled him to his feet and guided him out, deciding to make one more side trip before heading back to their hotel. The walk to JFK Street was short, and when he turned them in the direction of the Charles, Walter stopped.

"Where are we going, son?" his father said, looking around. "Down to the Charles?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah, I thought we'd go check it out." Peter said, offering his father to take the lead down the sidewalk.

"Oh, the races!" Walter beamed exuberantly. "I used to love watching the kayaks." He turned and headed down the sidewalk, setting a rapid pace.

Peter shook his head, "Me too, Walter." he said softly, out loud to himself, still feeling conflicted.

There had been no kayak races going on, as it was the middle of winter. Peter had known that there wouldn't be, but his father had been so excited to go. The two of them had watched the river for a while, with Walter talking sporadically about some of the things he'd been researching back in the day for the Department of Defense, most of which sounded downright terrifying. Peter told him of some of the places he'd been, and jobs he'd done after leaving Boston, only the legal ones, of course, but his father hadn't seemed too impressed, which he understood. Pushing a broom in a meat packing plant wasn't an occupation to brag about in his opinion. They spent the cab ride back to the hotel in silence, each of them lost in their thoughts. Walter looked on the verge of tears again, staring out the window and muttering softly to himself, occasionally sneaking a glance over at his son.

Peter was still torn on what do, didn't think he would know, until the moment of truth came. He'd always been a bit reckless, something that had always driven his mother, and other women that had been in his life crazy. It was just how he was built, tending to rely on his intuition in the moment to…feel his way through things. At any rate, this moment was approaching fast, as the FBI had only arranged for three days lodging for them.

.

When the cab pulled up near the front of their hotel, he tossed some bills over the seat and the two of them got out, with Walter tripping on the curb and nearly falling on his face. Peter caught him by the arm, and his father gave him a grateful look in thanks.

Looking around as they made their way towards the hotel lobby, Peter observed that the area was quite a bit busier than it had been when they left. It was close to check in time, and there were several families with cars pulled up outside the entrance, luggage racks being loaded and pushed inside. In the other direction was a grocer, a _Trader Joe's_, if he remembered right, and there was steady traffic in and out of the place. On the corner near the grocery store entrance was a group of people waiting for a bus, with several small kids running around laughing and carrying on, a man in a suit with an out of style hat and briefcase stood among them, and an old woman was giving one of the kids that had just run into her, a piece of her mind. Peter smiled, it was all so ordinary, so normal, and he hadn't felt that way in a long time. Looking back towards the entrance, he saw that another vehicle had pulled up, and a woman with blond hair, pulled back into a ponytail was getting out of the passenger seat.

It was Olivia. He felt his heart rate increase when she saw them and their eyes met. She headed quickly in his direction, her posture indicating that she was not on a leisurely stroll. "Walter, why don't you take a seat, I'll be right back." Peter told his father, indicating a nearby bench.

"Why, is something wrong, son?" his father asked with a worried frown on his face.

"No, Walter nothing is wrong. Olivia's here." Peter said, watching him to make sure he actually did sit down and not wander off.

"Ahh, Agent Dunham. Take your time, Peter." he said in a knowing voice, and sat down.

Rolling his eyes in annoyance at Walter, he shook his head in resignation, and went to meet Olivia half way. She didn't look good, when he got close enough to see her face clearly. In fact, it looked like she'd been crying, a lot, and recently. Her green eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them puffy, her cheeks pale. He knew something bad had happened right away, and from the tears, he suspected something with John. They stopped when they were a foot or two apart, and he watched her expectantly. She gave him a searching look before speaking.

"Can I talk to you for a minute Peter, please?" she asked in strained voice, not at all like her normal tone.

He narrowed his eyes, "Of course. What's wrong?" he replied, feeling uneasy at her behavior. Whatever it was, it must be pretty bad, for her to be acting like this.

She ignored his question with a slight shake of her head, "Look, I'm sure you're anxious to get as far away from here as possible…and...fly off to Iraq or Afghanistan, or some other far out of reach place," she said, holding his gaze, and running her hands through her hair nervously. "but, I'm here to tell you, that you need to stay. I need your father to stay, and that means that you need to…too."

Peter froze, unsure what was happening. What was she saying? She needed him…and Walter to stay? "Olivia, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"And...and… I'm sure that you have countless reasons as to why this is a non-starter for you," She went on quickly, still ignoring his questions, "But you know, your father is a good man. He's not the monster you think he is, and…you're good with him, despite what you may think." She added with a little smile.

"Olivia-" Peter tried to break in.

"You're the only one that speaks Walter, Peter." She said desperately before he could get another word in. "We can take him back to St. Claire's when this is all over."

"Where's John?" he said, when he could finally get a word in. "What's going on?

Olivia gave that little shake of her head again, and he knew that somehow, John was dead. He didn't understand how that could have happened, but it wasn't related to his condition. Walter's cure had worked, he was sure of it.

She looked down and let out a self-deprecating laugh that disturbed him, "They gave me a promotion…said I could have anyone or anything I needed to work with." She met his eyes again, "I want you and your father."

Peter blinked. Of all things she could have said, this had not been far up the list of possibilities. "You're offering me a job?" he asked incredulously.

"I can talk to the Bureau and get them to clear your gambling debts with Big Eddie and-" Olivia said, her voice starting to take on that desperate tone again.

"I can take care of my own debts, okay?" He said not unkindly. "Olivia, what happened? Where's John?"

"I'm not going to make false threats, Peter. I don't have to. The threats are real, and you've seen them." She said determinedly.

Peter glanced back at Walter, sitting on the bench, watching the two of them. He turned back to Olivia, who had a hopeful look on her face. "This afternoon my father and I took a walk in Cambridge. He was being remarkably lucid, and he told me of some of the work he and Bell did in their experiments. And that incident, what happened on plane, if it's just the beginning..." he said grimly. "It makes…every part of me feel like I gotta get the hell out of Boston."

"I'm begging you, Peter." She said softly, repeating herself from the hotel in Baghdad.

"Are we leaving?" He heard Walter call from his bench. He wasn't asking about the hotel.

Peter looked back at him, Walter looked distressed, like knew exactly what was being discussed between them. His father was old now, he realized, old and full of regrets. He'd never really seen him that way before. It was the moment that he'd been waiting for. He had to choose now. He heard his mother's voice. _Einai kalytero anthropo apo ton patera toy, Peter._

Turning back to Olivia, he held her gaze. Her eyes were huge like they'd been in that stairwell outside the lab. The gold speckles around her pupils looked especially vivid. She looked hopeful. "I think we're gonna be sticking around for a while, Walter." he called over his shoulder without looking away from her.

Peter felt a slow grin appear on his face, reaching all the way up to his eyes. Olivia's own grin answered his, lighting up her face. The moment grew intense, and she looked away, biting at her lower lip obscenely.

"Didn't I hear you mention once upon a time something about the FBI having good insurance? Do I get to get in on that?" he smirked, breaking the tension between them.

"I don't know," she said with a little giggle. "I haven't thought that far ahead yet, but I'll see what I can do." Her eyes were full of gratitude.

He heard Walter approaching from behind. "What's going on, Peter?" his father asked hesitantly as he stepped up to the two of them.

"How would you like to get a job, Walter? Agent Dunham has offered us one, and I've accepted on both our behalf's." Peter declared to his father. "Which means...that it looks like you won't be returning to St. Claire's anytime soon. Is that okay?"

His father looked dumbfounded for a moment, then threw his arms around Peter in a desperate hug. "Thank you, Peter..." he said, his voice trembling, holding his son tight. Peter noticed Olivia was watching the scene speculatively. He wondered what she was thinking.

After a moment, Peter grew uncomfortable, and extricated himself from Walter's grasp with a grimace. He wasn't ready to be quite so touchy-feely with his father, no matter that he wasn't sending him back, he just wasn't there yet, and he didn't know if he would ever be.

"A job, Peter?" He leaned in close to Peter's ear, "I'm not sure I'm qualified to be an FBI agent, son." he whispered in a loud voice, clearly audible to Olivia, who shook her head in amusement.

"Don't worry Walter," Peter whispered back in the same tone, "I don't think Olivia is worried about you taking _her_ job." He eyed Olivia over Walter's shoulder, and she nodded back towards the hotel. "Why don't you head back up to our room. I'll be right behind you in a few minutes. I need to work out a few details with Agent Dunham."

His father nodded, and gave Olivia a smile. "Thank you, dear. For convincing my son to do this, he can be quite stubborn sometimes, you know."

"I know he can." she replied sagely. "But you know Walter, I didn't have anything to do with it." she said, staring at Peter, as if daring him to say otherwise.

Walter turned back to him, "Thank you for giving me a chance, son." He said somberly, rubbing his hands together in the cold air.

Peter handed him the room key. "Here, I'll meet you in the room." He told his father, herding him in the direction of the hotel entrance.

After the two of them had watched Walter go in though the sliding glass doors of the hotel entrance, they started down the sidewalk in the direction of Olivia's ride.

"Do you think he'll be okay going to the room by himself?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think he'll be okay." Peter replied, matching the slow pace she was setting. "After spending the last few nights with him, I've come to the conclusion that he might be a bit more with it than he lets on most of the time. Not that he's anywhere close to being normal." He added with a chuckle.

"Olivia." He said after moment, deciding that he had to know what had brought all this about. "What happened?" he questioned, stopping her in her tracks at his serious tone.

She stood completely still for several seconds before turning to face him. Her eyes were glistening again, and he knew that she'd been forcing down some serious angst for the last few minutes to get through talking him with him and Walter. He wanted to kill the bastard that did this to her, but he was pretty sure he was too late on that point.

"This afternoon," she began in a wooden voice, "John, killed Richard Stieg, then he tried to kill me as we were trying apprehend him, and died in the process." She closed her eyes briefly, and continued, after taking a breath to steady herself. "He was apparently a double agent, for whom, we don't know, but he was involved in some way with Flight 627." As she finished, a single tear made a track down her cheek, which she wiped away furiously.

_Fuck, no wonder she's like this,_ he thought, _She's gotta be going out of her mind right now._ Shaking his head, Peter didn't know what to say to that. "I'm sorry, Olivia." He said simply.

"Yeah, me too." She replied with a grunt, and rubbed eyes again with her gloved hands.

Peter heard something her tone he didn't care for. "This isn't your fault, you know that, right?" he said, catching her eye.

"That's what people have been telling me." She replied, her voice filled with guilt.

"They're right." Peter said earnestly. "Look…you know, or you may have guessed at, what I do…what I did…before I met you right?" he asked her uncomfortably. He hoped she wouldn't look at him differently after admitting this.

She nodded, her look turning speculative.

"Well, in order for any of my…ventures…to be successful, I had to start by gaining the…persons trust, and letting them think that I trusted them." He swallowed heavily, not liking saying any of this to her, but she needed to know. "And you do that, by telling them exactly what they want to hear…I know from this experience, Olivia. There's no way you could have known. He probably insisted on keeping everything secret, and probably had a reason that made sense, right?" he asked gently.

Olivia nodded slowly, her eyes narrowed at him. "You've done this to someone before?" She asked with her arms crossed across her chest tightly, her face pale.

"No, no…I never had the stomach for getting that...personal." Peter responded quickly, hoping she believed him. "The people I did…business with were one step above criminals themselves, and it was always about money…but the tactics and methods used to gain someone's confidence are the same. You can't blame yourself for this." He repeated what he'd said earlier, trying to make her understand.

She held onto her stoic look, still gazing at him intently. Finally, the look faded, and she let her shoulders slump a little. "Thanks, Peter." Olivia said quietly. "That does help, a little bit."

It made him sad, seeing her like this. Peter wondered how long she would carry the scar of this on her shoulders before she let it go. He guessed it would probably be with her for a long time. John Scott better have suffered more than a little bit for doing this to her.

Peter walked Olivia over to the car that she had pulled up in, which was still waiting at the curb. Unsurprisingly, Agent Francis was sitting in the driver's seat. "Look Olivia, we can talk about this job, or whatever it is later. You should get some rest."

She raised an eyebrow at this, and rolled her eyes. "You know Peter, I already have a Charlie."

_"I heard that, Liv!"_ he heard Charlie call from in the car, making her roll her eyes again.

Peter chuckled, "Fair enough." He looked her over again, noting the determined look she was sporting. She was going to be okay, eventually. "You didn't happen to ask for the lab when they were offering you the world to work for them, did you?"

She nodded her head. "I did, and they gave it."

"Excellent! Walter will love that." Peter beamed, and then another thought occurred to him. He narrowed his eyed and gave her shrewd look. "Do I get to carry a gun?"

Olivia let out a choke of laughter at this, shaking her head, "No. I'll be the one carrying the gun. You'll be the one staying in the car." She was looking at him as if _he_ was the insane Bishop. "That is, if I let you out of the lab." She added after moment, watching his reaction indifferently.

Stay in the lab? That didn't sound like nearly as much fun. He saw a grin trying to break through the detached look on her face. "Very funny, Agent Dunham. We'll talk about this another time." At least she still had her sense of humor, even if it was at his expense. He thought he might spend a lot of time getting her to laugh like she just had, in the future. "So when do we start?" he asked.

"Whenever I call you." Olivia said, opening the car door. "Day or night, twenty four-seven." she added, and got in.

"Day…or night?" he asked, before she could shut the door.

"Yep. Get some sleep, Peter." She said with an amused smile, shutting the door. Olivia kept her eyes on his as they pulled away from the curb. He gave her a little nod, which she returned in kind. Peter watched them until they made the turn at the intersection, and were out of sight.

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**Thanks for reading, leave a review if you feel like it.**


	15. Chapter 14 - 1x02 Same Old Story

**Chapter 14**

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**-Brighton, Ma**

**Olivia **had spent the last two days cleaning her apartment of all things John related. She'd thrown out the flowers he'd given her, the cards that had come with them, some lingerie he'd bought her, and even the green dress she'd bought for him, that she'd never had a chance to wear. It all had to go. She wanted no reminders of that backstabbing bastard in her house or in her life anymore.

Then she'd scrubbed the place from top to bottom, leaving nothing untouched. Not that he'd ever spent much time there, but she found it therapeutic. Cleaning had always given her something to do with her hands, while she worked through whatever issues she was facing at the time. And now, Olivia was facing the worst case of faltering self-confidence she'd ever experienced. She kept going over the conversations and times she'd spent with him trying to understand how he could have fooled her so completely.

_"It's just preamble to the kicker, which is this, that I love you."_

Olivia heard his voice again from that fateful night in the motel. It had seemed so sincere. _God, I'm such a fool,_ she said to herself, and not for the first time, as she scrubbed a spot on the tiled wall of her bathroom. With a shake of her head, she grabbed her glass of scotch off the edge of the vanity, and took a sip, appreciating the bite as it slid down her throat.

She'd been drinking too much, and knew that it wasn't the proper way to deal with this, but she didn't care. She just wanted to be numb for a while. Setting the glass down, she returned to the spot on the tile that was being difficult. Peter's words outside the hotel had helped in the short-term, but in the quiet loneliness of her apartment, they seemed less convincing. The fact was that she should have known, or at least suspected something was not right, and a part of her had, she'd just ignored it at every opportunity.

All his demands for secrecy should have set her alarm bells ringing. Sure, relationships were frowned upon between partners, but they did happen now and then, it wasn't completely unheard of. What she couldn't figure out was what he'd gotten out of the whole thing. They had just worked cases together, mostly homicides, and nothing top-secret, so why target her? None of it made sense.

Realizing the spot she'd been scrubbing was long since clean, Olivia dropped her scrubber in the sink and grabbed her glass, taking another sip as she exited the bathroom. She went to the kitchen, looking around for anything else that needed doing. On the kitchen table was a large stack of old case files that she'd been given at the Federal Building, when she'd gone in to talk to Broyles about the Bishops acceptance of the job offer. He'd informed her that Agent Farnsworth had agreed also, and that everything would be finalized, once he'd gone upstairs with it. He had seemed sure that there would be no resistance from the person, or people he answered to.

Olivia wondered who his boss was, presumably someone high up in Department of Homeland Security. She was uncomfortable with the thought of herself being under discussion by such powerful people. _Peter is going to absolutely hate it, if he finds out,_ she thought with amusement. What a motley crew they would be, a disgraced agent, a con man, and clinically insane mad scientist. Agent Farnsworth would be the only normal one among them. She wondered what had happened to the previous team, someone must have looked into those cases Broyles had shown her in the Kresge Building lobby. The thought that they might be replacements made her uneasy.

Her eyes went back to the pile of case files as she finished the last of her drink. Broyles had handed them to her without saying much, just that she might want to look them over. She had recognized the one on top as one of the first cases her and John had worked together, and wasn't exactly eager to go digging through her past. But with her apartment undeniably clean, she was running out of excuses to not look at them.

Sliding into a chair at the table, she pulled one of the files towards her, and opened it. The case was an old homicide she'd worked with John. It had been a serial rapist, who had attacked fourteen women from Rhode Island to Delaware. He'd a penchant for dumping their bodies in harbors up and down the northeast. John had shot and killed him, when he'd fled from them after they had stumbled upon his residence while following a lead. That had been years before they'd started dating, in fact, she had disapproved of his handling of the situation at the time. Flipping through the several crime scene photos, she wondered if he was already bad back then. She was going to go crazy, if she had to relive all of their cases, wondering if he'd been helping or hindering the investigations.

Closing the file, she glanced through the others, most of them appeared to be cases John had worked before they were partners. The majority of them were unsolved as well, she noted, quickly separating them from the others.

Glancing down at her watch, she saw that it was past three in the morning. _So much for sleeping,_ she thought, getting up to start a pot of coffee. When it was ready, she poured herself a cup and returned to the table, spreading the unsolved cases out on the table before her. As she looked through the case notes and crime scene photos, Olivia recognized John's familiar scrawl throughout the paperwork. She pursed her lips, thinking about their last moment together. What had he meant about Broyles, and the insinuation that it hadn't been coincidence that she'd been sent to the storage facility? What had he known? If only she'd had more time with him before the end.

The sudden buzzing of her cell phone on the table next to her interrupted her thoughts. Picking it up, Olivia saw that it was Agent Broyles. A call at this time of night could only mean one thing. With a sense of anticipation, she hit talk button.

"Dunham." was all she said, running her free hand through her hair, trying to determine if it was in good enough shape to forgo a ponytail.

"Wake up." Broyles said bluntly. "There's something you and the others need to see."

"Well, waking ups not gonna be problem," she said with a smirk. "but thank you for the gentle nudge. I assume this is a case?" she asked, getting to her feet.

"It's almost four in the morning, Dunham." Broyles said dryly. "Of course it's a case. Pick up the Bishops and meet me at the Bromely Medical Center in thirty minutes." He said, ending the call without another word.

"And good morning to you too, sir." Olivia said, staring at her phone for a moment. _The man could use some work on his people skills_, she thought to herself as she finished her coffee, and then went about getting dressed for the day. She threw on the first blouse and pair of pants she saw in her closet, and quickly brushed her teeth. After making sure her hair wasn't a complete mop, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed Peter's number, hoping he took her seriously when she'd told him day or night the other day at the hotel. When the call was answered by a robotic voice, informing her that the man in question was unavailable, she shook her head, ending the call. She tried their hotel room phone and was met with a busy signal. Sighing, Olivia poured herself another coffee into her travel mug, grabbed her gun and badge, and rushed out the door to her SUV, making a note to herself to have a little talk with Peter about leaving his phone on when she saw him.

The streets of Brighton were empty, and after making the drive to their Cambridge hotel in record time, Olivia found herself outside the Bishop's door less than fifteen minutes after receiving Broyles car. She knocked sharply on the door several times, and listened for any movement from within the room. After hearing nothing, she knocked again, louder this time, and finally heard groaning coming from inside the room, which brought a smile to her face. As the source of the noise approached the door, she schooled her features, and tried to put an unamused look on her face. She thinned her lips as the door opened, and revealed a very shirtless Peter, wearing nothing but a pair of dark boxer shorts and sheet hanging over one shoulder.

"You gotta be kidding me, right?" he said with a scowl, wincing at the bright light of the hallway.

"You turned off your phone Peter," Olivia said tersely. Her eyes involuntarily flicked down his lanky frame as she spoke, taking him in. She felt her face begin to grow hot as the image was imprinted in her memory.

"That's because I didn't want to get woken up." he smirked. "You know it's," he looked back into the room for a moment, "four o'clock in the morning, right?"

"Day or night, Peter. Remember?" she said in what she hoped was stern tone. "You need to wake up your father, there's something we need to see."

"And this something…" he began.

"It can't wait." she finished for him.

"Okay." Peter said, and nodded, a little smile crossing his face as he did so. He turned, and called out to Walter, closing the door as he did so.

* * *

**Peter **closed the door behind him. "Walter!" he called out, picking up the shirt he'd taken off earlier and buttoning it back on. There was no response from his father.

He walked to the bedroom of the suite him and Walter were sharing."Hey Walter, c'mon Olivia's here and-" he opened the door, only to find the bed empty. "Walter?" He called out again. Looking around, He saw the closed door of the closet, and could see that the light was on inside. "Tell me you're not in the closet." He crossed the room and pulled the door open. "What the hell are you doing in there, again?"

Walter was sitting on the floor with his hands around his knees, leaning against the wall dressed in his pajamas. He had a contrite look on his face as he looked up at Peter.

"Son, where I've been for the last seventeen years is a mental institution." His father said in explanation.

"Yeah, I know. I'm the one that got you out of there, remember Walter?" Peter said, not impressed at all with his excuse.

"There was a patient at St. Claire's, Carlos." his father said, smiling sadly in remembrance. "He had a wonderful singing voice, he used to sing _Row, Row, Row Your Boat_, every night at lights out. It's funny how hard it is to fall asleep without that song now."

Peter nodded his head slowly in response, still trying to clear his head. "That's great Walter. Wonderful." He told his father sarcastically. "Olivia's here. We gotta go. You need to get dressed right now." He pulled his father to his feet, and went in search of a pair of jeans to throw on.

His father, surprisingly, didn't procrastinate and was fully dressed and ready to go in less than five minutes. "Are you ready, son?" he asked, standing over Peter as he finished tying his shoes.

"Did you have those clothes on under your pajama's, Walter?" Peter asked, getting to his feet.

"Of course not Peter, that's ridiculous." he replied in a stern tone, reminiscent of his former self. Walter grabbed his coat and left the room, leaving Peter behind, scratching his scruff with a bemused look on his face.

Grabbing his coat, Peter followed his father and Olivia out to her car, after grabbing a coffee from the hotel dining room. He heard Walter comment that she was looking flushed, and if she was feeling okay. Olivia stammered some response that he couldn't hear.

"Walter, let her be. It's four in the morning. She doesn't need you pestering her." Peter said as three of them got in her vehicle, Walter sliding into the backseat and Peter riding up front next to Olivia.

"I'm doing no such thing, Peter." His father huffed. "Excuse my son, Agent Dunham, he was out late last night, and is in a foul mood this morning. He was always such a grumpy bear in the morning as a child."

"Walter…" Peter groaned, rolling his eyes. "I'm fine." he said to Olivia.

She said nothing in reply, but had a half-smile on her face as she glanced over at him.

"Were you out with that lady that was eyeing you in the bar at dinner, son?" Walter continued, oblivious to the glare Peter was giving him over the seat. "She seemed rather taken with you, though older than I would like."

Peter felt his cheeks start to burn at this, remembering the woman in question. "Walter… I wasn't… just forget it, please." It had been the same woman who had approached him a few nights ago. She'd been in the bar again later, and wouldn't take no for an answer, eventually forcing him to flee once again.

"It shouldn't surprise you, Peter, with the way you flirt with every woman who crosses your path." Walter continued, oblivious of Peter's uneasiness from his spot in the back seat.

Peter grimaced, seeing the stony look on Olivia's face out of the corner off his eye. "That's enough, Walter." He turned to Olivia, "It's not like that… what he said."

Olivia glanced over at him, then back to the road in front of her. "If you say so, Peter. It's not my concern." she replied neutrally.

Peter observed her reaction for a moment before turning to look out the window. Was that disapproval he detected? _Great, she thinks I'm a womanizer now too. Thank you Walter._

He'd naïvely thought that once he'd agreed to stay Walter's guardian until further notice, things would fall into place between them. The honeymoon had ended later that evening in the hotel room, when Walter's endless ranting about everything from the quality of their rooms linens, to the way Peter had blown all the opportunities that had been given to him, to run off and have adventures. He'd ended up in the bar every night since. At this rate, he was going to be an alcoholic before he collected his first paycheck. Maybe Olivia was one of those people who didn't drink at all, and that was the disapproval, or whatever it had been that he'd detected in her voice.

"Peter!" Washer suddenly blurted out from the backseat, breaking his train of thought. "This seat is starting to burn my ass!"

Looking over his shoulder, he saw that his father was gripping the back of Olivia's seat, and holding his rear end suspended in the air above the cushion, in an attempt to keep it from being burned. Peter burst out laughing at the sight, and he noticed a smile from Olivia who was looking at Walter through the rearview mirror.

"Walter, the seat is supposed to do that. It's got a heating element built-in." He explained to his father, who slowly let himself fall back on the seat. "The controls are on the door handle, you must have hit them on accident."

Walter bent and looked closely the door controls. "This is remarkable, Peter!" He exclaimed after his initial examination. "What an ingenious idea." He went about examining the controls, and pushing on the seat cushion, as if trying to pinpoint the heat source.

With Walter's curiosity piqued, Peter turned back to the front, noticing Olivia's blouse, with the first three buttons undone as he did so. She was a confusing woman. As shy as she seemed at times, she also had no problems exposing herself in such a way regularly, not that he minded in the slightest. He wondered if she was even aware of the effect that it could have on a man.

He didn't let her exposed skin distract him this time, as he saw flashing lights ahead in the distance. When they drew closer, he recognized the Bromely Medical Center as the source. There was a mass of police cars outside the entrance, along with several black SUV's with lights flashing from their interiors. Olivia pulled up alongside the government vehicles, and hopped out, leaving Peter and his father behind.

Pulling off his seat belt, he opened the door and got out, intending to catch up with Olivia. Glancing back, he saw that Walter hadn't made any move to follow. "Walter, we're here." he said back into the car. His father made no move to follow or that he'd even heard him, just kept fiddling with the door controls. "Walter…". He started again, trying to get his attention, then gave up, with an aggravated shake of his head. "Fuck it." he said to himself, and left his father there, as he went in search of Olivia.

Peter found her near the entrance, talking with a tall man in a brown trench coat. The dark skin on his bald head was glowing comically in the flashing lights of the police cruisers. There was nothing comical on his face, however, when the two of them turned to face Peter as he approached. The guy looked like he lived and breathed authority. Definitely not someone he wanted to piss off.

"Peter Bishop? I'm Philip Broyles, Department of Homeland Security." He extended his hand, and Peter shook it once and let go. "Thank you for agreeing to work with us."

Peter considered the other man's words. "Just to be clear, I don't really know what you expect me to do here, I'm really just here as the babysitter." he said diplomatically, and noticed Olivia's sharp glance out of the corner of his eye at his words. "My father is the man you want." He finished uncomfortably, still seeing Olivia watching him narrowly from the side.

"It's nice to meet you anyway. Is your father coming out?" Agent Broyles asked.

Running his hands through his hair, he replied uncertainly. "Well… that's unclear. He's fiddling around with the seat warmer in Agent Dunham's car right now."

Agent Broyles excused himself and walked over to the Olivia's SUV. He looked in through the window at Walter, then bent over to talk to him.

"What did you mean by that?" Olivia said suddenly.

"By what?"

"That you didn't know why you were here, and that you're just Walter's babysitter." She replied, her voice sounding almost nervous. "You haven't decided to leave have you?"

"I just meant that… this stuff… the things we're gonna be investigating, that's Walter's thing. I don't really know anything about it." he responded honestly.

She nodded, and then after moment she caught his eye and spoke again. "You know you're more than just his babysitter, Peter." Her voice was sweet, and made his throat catch involuntarily. When she didn't elaborate, he nodded back at her, their eyes locking momentarily.

After a moment, they turned to watch as Agent Broyles had somehow managed to coax Walter out of the back of the car. The two men joined them, and they made their way inside the hospital.

The interior of the hospital was full of more police, questioning hospital staff and hanging crime scene tape, blocking off a corridor from inquisitive eyes. Nurses in blue and green scrubs and doctors in their white coats stood off to the side, observing the scene and talking among themselves about what had happened. They walked around the crowd and passed through the yellow crime scene tape, and into the ER. On one side of the space was a door with several agents standing on either side. The agents let them pass without question, and Peter found himself looking at woman's body lying on a gurney. She was unclothed, except for a bra, and clearly dead. There was a gaping wound in her abdomen, actually it was an incision, he realized as he got a closer look. The lower half of her body was bloody mess, and Peter found himself stepping away involuntarily, he'd never seen a corpse like that before.

Walter rushed past him, pulling on a pair of latex gloves he'd found on a nearby counter. He bent over the woman's body, examining it closely.

"So what do we know?" Olivia asked her superior coolly, seemingly unaffected by the dead body.

"Seventeen past midnight," Broyles began, "a woman… she appeared pregnant to term, and was found alone outside the hospital. She collapsed, suffering severe abdominal pain. She's a Jane Doe. Prints and D.N.A. are being run now. We should have her ID'd by sundown.

"You said she appeared to be pregnant." Olivia stated.

Broyles nodded, "At twelve twenty-four, less than two minutes after she was pronounced dead, Ms. Doe became a mother."

"And the baby? Did it survive?" She asked dispassionately.

As he listened to Olivia asking her questions, it occurred to him why she really needed her agent persona. It was the only way for her to function in a scene like this. The only way to access the logic circuits required to make sense of the situation without being overwhelmed by the sheer horror of it. He recognized that if he was going to be of any use here, then he was going to need to come up with a filtering system of his own. He came out of his cogitation in time to hear Agent Broyles reply.

"Yes, the newborn was convulsing, screaming in obvious pain." Broyles said, replying to Olivia. "They were in the process of placing it in a bassinet, to transfer to the intensive care unit when they realized what was happening." He paused, looking them over before replying. "It was growing… before their eyes."

"Growing?" Olivia asked, sounding confused. "You mean they could see it… growing larger?"

Broyles nodded, "That's right."

"So where is this baby now?"

Agent Broyles motioned for them to follow him. "This way." He said, walking with Olivia out of the room.

"Walter!" Peter said, seeing that his father wasn't moving from where he was bent over the woman's abdomen.

His father looked up, "Yes, Peter? This woman's body has some very strange abdominal stretch-"

"We gotta go, come on." He interrupted.

Making sure his father was following, he quickly caught up to Olivia and Agent Broyles, narrowly avoiding running into the back of dark suited bald man with pale skin as he rounded the corner. A little farther down the corridor were two men in FBI jackets, hunched over something in a doorway.

"The baby remained alive for nearly half an hour, before it finally died… of natural causes, or at least as natural as anything can be about this situation." Broyles said as they approached the two men.

"Natural causes?" Olivia said, "I don't understand."

The men stood, and moved aside as they heard them approaching. The thing they'd been hunched over was another body, lying on its side and covered in what looked like dried blood. As Peter got closer, he saw what he thought was an old man, judging from the wrinkly skin on his face and hands.

"What they realized was that the child wasn't just growing." Broyles said coming to a stop in front of the body. "It was aging."

That was when Peter noticed the thick umbilical cord protruding from the body's stomach. Eyes wide, he crouched down next to Olivia, forcing himself to look at it. He felt his stomach heaving uncomfortably, but steeled his resolve against it. He was not going to get sick in front her. He found some small consolation in that her eyes were wide at the scene in front of her. He figured she'd never seen anything like this before, either.

"Okay, hold on a sec." Peter said finally, getting to his feet, as Walter rushed passed him, clearly excited at the sight of what Peter had decided to call, the old man-baby. "I know it's four am, so I'm a little foggy, but you're telling me that grandpa here, was born four hours ago?" he asked rhetorically.

"Were there any calls or tips?" Olivia asked, looking up from where she was still crouched next to the body. "Did any of the security cameras see how the pregnant woman got here? Do we know if she drove herself or was she dropped off?"

"We're checking into that right now." Agent Broyles replied to Olivia's query. "Dr. Bishop, do you have any idea how something like this might happen? Or if it's somehow a natural occurrence?"

Peter had seen Walter's brilliance with the John Scott's cure, but this…" Mr. Broyles, I think you're probably expecting a bit much from him at this point."

Walter looked up from where he was examining the body. "I'm right here, Peter." he said disdainfully, and then looked up at Agent Broyles. "There are several possibilities, Mr. Broyles. Celermitosis. The disabling and reversing of cell cycle inhibitors or activating them and turning CIP/KIP and INKA 4a/ARFs into catalysts." He slid open the man-baby's eyelid, and looked closely at the eyeball. "Ninety-two percent of caucasian newborns have blue eyes." He looked over at Peter, "Yours were green. To understand what happened here, I'll need to run extensive tests, and get these bodies back to a lab. Therefore, of course, I'll need a lab immediately." He finished, looking up at Broyles expectantly.

Agent Broyles narrowed his eyes in confusion at Walter. "Dr. Bishop, you have a lab. We reopened your old lab at Harvard, don't you remember?"

Walter looked around uneasily as he replied, "No, not really. But that's fantastic news!"

Agent Broyles looked at Walter curiously at this remark, then glanced at Olivia, who was getting to her feet. She shrugged uneasily under his gaze, but didn't comment.

"Alright," Peter said, wanting to take the focus away from his father, "let's assume that this little bundle of joy here…" He gestured toward the man-baby. "Let's assume it's for real, and that somehow it has gone from infancy, to dying of old age in less than an hour. What are we doing here? Why is the FBI, or DHS, or whatever agency we're working for involved in this?"

"We'll get into that." Agent Broyles replied. "But not here. I'll arrange for the bodies to be transferred to your lab, Dr. Bishop." He told Walter, watching him closely.

"Thank you, Mr. Broyles." Walter said in a quavery voice. "I'll get to work on them right away when we get back to the lab." He bent beck over the body, looking closely at the thick umbilical cord where it was attached to the man-baby's abdomen.

If Walter's behavior had cracked Agent Broyles confidence in him at all, he didn't let it show. Peter thought that being stoic must be part of a mandatory class at Quantico. After watching Walter work for several minutes, Broyles turned to Olivia.

"You finish up here, Dunham." He instructed. "I'll meet the two of you back in the lab in about an hour or so." He turned to Peter and gave him a nod. "Bishop." He said, and turned on his heels, leaving the three of them behind.

"I'm going to go get the staffs statements." Olivia said, meeting Peter's eye. "You think you can keep your father out of trouble?"

"I think I can manage." He smirked. "Go do your thing."

She nodded and left him with Walter, walking over to a visitor waiting area where a distraught looking nurse in blue scrubs seemed to be having a hard time.

Her leaving had left him with not much to do. Walter seemed to have his examination of the man-baby corpse well in hand, so he let himself fall back against the wall with a yawn, watching Olivia as she went about questioning the attending physicians and nurses that had worked on the pregnant woman and child. This was his first real opportunity to see her at her work. She had a way about her, that seemed to get people to open up to her. He noticed that she never wrote any of their statements down and always maintained eye contact. There was a look of commiseration on her face that was too sincere to be anything but real, unless she was the best actor he'd ever seen. Peter didn't think it was acting though, he thought she genuinely empathized for each and every one of these people.

_How is it, _he wondered,_ that every new thing I learn about her, makes her more appealing, while simultaneously makes it more unlikely that I could ever approach her. _He shook his head in regret. Not that it mattered much anyway, John Scott had died in her arms less than a week ago, and she sure as hell wouldn't be looking to hook up with another coworker anytime soon, or likely ever, after that. If it could even be called hooking up, with a woman like Olivia, the term almost seemed too vulgar. With a sigh, he tore his eyes from her, forcing himself to stop thinking about her like that, which was something he suspected he was going to have to do regularly. He would just have to settle for being her friend for the foreseeable future.

.

"Mr. Broyles, it's still not clear to me what exactly our purpose is here." Peter said from his seat next to Olivia, in what he now thought of as her office, at the Harvard lab. "I mean, what's the end game here?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

Agent Broyles tossed some files on the desk in front of them, and sat down on an edge. Peter could see the upside down _TOP SECRET_ printed in red across the covers of the manila folders. The print raised Peter's eyebrows in curiosity, and caused a wave of unreality to wash over him. How the hell had he, Peter Bishop, nomad and confidence man, ended up in a situation where the US government was willingly giving him access to top-secret information? It made his problems with Big Eddie seem completely inconsequential.

Broyles looked back and forth between him and Olivia momentarily before speaking. "A series of events has occurred, and continues to occur that has us, and other agencies on high alert."

"What kind of events?" Peter asked, then added, "And just so we're clear, who is us? What agency are we working for?" This had been bugging him. He thought Olivia was FBI, yet he had heard her talk about the DHS and Broyles himself had said he was from the Department of Homeland Security.

"Fringe Division, as we are calling it, is a joint venture between the DHS and the FBI." Broyles explained. "Homeland Security heads the operation, with the staff being FBI. Any other questions?"

"Fringe Division?" Peter laughed, "Walter's gonna love that." He caught a look from Olivia then added "I'm finished now."

"As I was saying," Broyles continued, "these series of events, they appear to be scientific in nature, and suggest a larger strategy is at play. A coordinated effort, that's being referred to as, _The Pattern_."

_The Pattern_? Peter wondered who'd come up with that name. They must have watched too many conspiracy movies. "Agent Broyles, I consider myself a fairly intelligent guy, but I'm not really following you here." he said with a shake of his head.

"Inexplicable and frightening things are happening, and there's a connection between them all, somehow." Olivia answered for her superior, in a matter of fact tone.

"Thanks," Peter said dryly, giving her an unamused look, which she deflected with a shrug. "That much, I understand. What I don't understand is, what the four of us are supposed to do about it."

Before Broyles could reply, Astrid stepped in to the office. "I just got a call from Henning at the Federal Building. The hospital got a call from a guest at the Scarlet Red Motel. They were checking to see how the pregnant woman was doing."

Olivia looked up sharply at this. "Was the woman staying there?" she said, getting to her feet.

Astrid nodded, "Yes, with a caucasian male, mid twenties, dark hair. They didn't have a description of the car he was driving though."

Olivia followed her out into the lab, with Peter and Broyles not far behind. "We need to call the hotel, and make sure they don't touch anything. In fact, they shouldn't even go in the room."

Astrid was nodding as Olivia spoke, "Already on it. I spoke with the hotel manager, the rooms locked, and the cleaning crew hasn't been in yet."

"Nice work Astrid." Olivia said gratefully. She turned to Walter who was leaning over the body of the pregnant woman with a syringe in hand, taking fluid samples from the woman's abdomen. "Dr. Bishop? I may need to you to take some samples from the hotel."

Walter made no response, just continued with his work.

"I need to you to come with me." Olivia said, standing across from him on the other side of the table the body was lying on. "Walter!" she said loudly, after there had still been no response from his father.

His father looked up then, annoyance written across his face, "Can't you see what I'm doing here?" he snarled at Olivia, causing her to lean away from him in surprise at his anger.

"Hey, relax Walter." Peter said forcefully, pointing his finger in emphasis as he moved closer to them. He wasn't about to let his father get away with talking to her like that.

Walter looked over at him with a pleading look on his face. "I can't figure this out with this girl buzzing in my ear." he said, gesturing towards Olivia with the syringe, traces of anger still in his tone. "I am trying to put these pieces together like a puzzle. How this happened, how he happened to her. I'm working." With that said, he bent back down over the body, ignoring both of them.

Olivia met Peter's eyes with a questioning look. He stared at her for a moment before looking back at Walter speculatively. Broyles was watching the scene carefully, obviously seeing how his agent would handle the situation. His father had a stubborn streak at times, as he had found out in his short guardianship of him since leaving St. Claire's. It was hard to tell what would cause it to kick in, the other day it had been a request for a fresh lobster pot pie. He'd talked about it for hours until Peter had finally broken down and given in, taking him to a place in Cambridge he remembered. It appeared that right now, his father didn't want to leave the lab, but maybe that wouldn't be a problem. Peter had faked his way into a chemistry professorship after all.

He looked back at the blond agent. "C'mon Olivia." Peter said with a crooked smile. "My limited stint at MIT did teach me something. I think I can handle doing this without Walter."

He picked up the evidence kit off a nearby countertop, and waved her to take the lead. She raised her eyebrows at this, but made no comment as they walked out to her SUV. He stowed the evidence kit in the back seat and slid into the passenger seat, waiting for her to start the engine. When she didn't immediately, he glanced over at her. She was giving him a sideways look.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"I thought you were just the babysitter." Olivia said, finally starting the engine, and pulling the SUV out of its parking spot.

Peter didn't respond right away, stewing over the question for a moment as they turned out of the Harvard parking lot. "I guess…" he replied before stopping to wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, "I guess I'm just taking your advice... from earlier, you know."

She looked at him fully then, openly examining his face, before turning back to the road ahead. He didn't know what she was looking for, maybe she thought he was messing with her, but he wasn't. While he wasn't sure at all that this was the job for him, he had decided to give it a shot, on an interim basis at least.

Olivia glanced back at him, nodding slowly, a small smile on her face. Peter returned the look, feeling an involuntary grin forming as a comfortable silence filled the space between them.

.

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**So that's the start of 1x02. Let me know if you like it, or if I should just stop while I'm ahead. Thanks ;-)**


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

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**-Scarlet Red Motel,**

**Olivia **approached the hotel clerk's desk with Peter following close behind carrying the bulky evidence kit. They'd been informed by the state cop watching the scene, that the night clerk had a room key waiting for them and that no attempts to enter the room had been made by anyone since his arrival. After informing him that an FBI forensic team would be arriving soon, they'd left the cop behind to retrieve the room key.

The clerk was an older man with unkempt graying hair and a badly receding hairline. He was bent over a desk wearing an appalling blue sweat suit with orange pin stripes down the length of the sleeves and pants legs. He looked up as they approached, a greasy smile forming on his face as he blatantly ran his eyes over her. _Why do I always get the slimeballs?_ She rolled her eyes, shaking her head in resignation as she stepped up to the desk.

"Hi there, darlin." the clerk said crudely. "What can I do ya for? You two need a room? We got hourly rates." He told her chest, not even trying to meet her eyes.

Olivia felt Peter stiffen behind her, and start to step up beside her. Before he could say anything, she stopped him with a touch to his leg. She didn't need his assistance with this sleaze; she'd been dealing with men like this since she got in law enforcement.

"Agent Olivia Dunham, FBI." she said coldly, holding up her ID in front of the man's face, and giving him a stare that would've withered flowers.

The clerk blanched visibly, and leaned away from her in a hurry. "Oh…um…you two must be here about the room with the pregnant lady." He swallowed heavily and darted furtive glances at her, keeping his head down.

"Yes, I believe you were told to expect us, and would provide us access to the room." She stated expectantly, keeping her glare on him.

"Oh…oh yes, of course." He said, his shoulders hunched inwards as he reached for a drawer under the desk, pulling out a stack of plastic magnetic stripe cards. Grabbing the first card off the top, he typed a few keys on the grimy keyboard in front of him, then ran the card through the swipe, programming it for the room they needed. "Here you go, Miss…uhh…Agent." He stammered, handing the card over to her. "Second floor, Room 215. Take a left out of here, and up the stairs straight ahead. It's just a little ways down the balcony from there." He gave her a weak smile, gesturing out the door in the direction of the staircase.

"Thank you." Olivia replied sweetly with a smile that never reached her eyes.

The clerk nodded uncomfortably, and she turned to go, not missing the evil look Peter had been giving the man over her shoulder. He could look downright menacing with that scruff he refused to shave off. She suspected he might look very boyish without it, and was actually curious to see him that way. Walking past him, she headed back the way they came, and looked around the parking lot for the stairs the rude desk clerk had mentioned.

Olivia caught Peter struggling to keep a grin off his face as he stepped up next to her. She met his gaze for a moment. "Don't even think about saying anything." she said with a shake of her head.

"What?" He said innocently. "I don't know what you mean, Agent Dunham." His grin was starting to turn Cheshire, exposing his teeth.

"You know exactly what I mean, Peter." she said, trying to give him the same look she'd given the man at the desk.

It didn't have the same effect on Peter as it had on the clerk. He let out a snicker, and dodged the elbow she threw at him. "Let's go. We've got a job to do." Olivia said, a smile crossing her face unconsciously at his antics.

"Lead the way, boss." Peter said, a ghost of a smile still on his face, and nodded towards the stairwell to the second floor. He watched her expectantly, his fingers tapping out a beat on the seam of his pants with his free hand.

Deciding it would be better to just drop it, Olivia moved past him to the stairwell, noting in the morning light just how dilapidated the place was. The Scarlet Red Motel was a two-story, L-shaped structure with the parking lot set in the middle, with all the room doors opening to it. The parking lot was full of pot holes and needed re-striping in a bad way. The motel that she and John used to meet at wasn't all that dissimilar, she realized with a frown, and wondered why she hadn't objected to such a shabby place. It was just another mistake in a long line of mistakes she'd made regarding John Scott. _Bastard!_ She raged at him in the confines of her head. She'd let him treat her like a fucking prostitute. Clenching her jaw, Olivia felt the furnace of anger she'd been holding down, ignite again, white hot with fury. As they reached Room 215, she struggled to not to drive her foot through the door, instead taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked concernedly from her side, all traces of humor gone. "Look, if that's about me giving you a hard time about that jerk at the front desk, I'm sorry. It was kinda cool seeing you put him in his place."

Olivia saw the sincerity on his face, and wondered how this could be the same man she'd met in Iraq. "No, no it's not that…it's nothing." she said dismissively. "I'm fine. Let's get this over with."

His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her face. After a moment he nodded, "Okay." Peter said dubiously, but made no further comment to her relief. His acceptance of her refusal to talk about it strangely let her rage dissipate.

Olivia smiled to herself as she slid the card the through the door swipe. Charlie would have pressed her on it, as would have the bastard. Not that she minded Charlie's nosiness exactly, but sometimes she just didn't feel like talking about it. It was nice to have a partner respect her wishes for privacy for once. Pushing the strangeness of Peter Bishop being here with her to the back of her mind, she opened the door and went in.

The room was dark, with just enough light coming through the thick curtains hanging in the window to reveal vague silhouettes of furniture around the room. Pulling out her little flashlight, she swung it around the room, illuminating a bed, with the covers clumped on the floor in front of it. Moving farther into the room, she saw the typical dresser in one corner, with an old tube television sitting on it. There was a small refrigerator at the end of the dresser, next to the door to the bathroom. In a corner next to the bed, was nightstand with an out of style lamp and a wallet sitting on top.

"Try not to disturb anything." Olivia instructed Peter as she moved closer to the nightstand, pulling on a pair of latex gloves she'd had in her pocket as she did so.

"Don't worry, Olivia. I watch CSI on a regular basis." Peter quipped sarcastically, moving towards the bathroom at the back of the room.

Olivia fought off an inappropriate giggle for a crime scene, picking up the wallet from the nightstand. It was actually more of a woman's ID case than a wallet. Opening it revealed the face of the dead woman Walter was currently performing an autopsy on.

"You know," Peter commented from the other side of the room. "I'm kinda surprised that people staying in a place like this would call to check up on that woman."

"That's very cynical of you Peter." Olivia chastised him absently as she looked through the ID case. "There are good people to be found everywhere." There were a few twenties in the bill fold, but no check cards or credit cards.

She heard him snort in response as he moved into the bathroom.

"Loraine Daisy Alcott. With one R. That's our Ms. Dough's name." she told him.

"Loraine Daisy." Peter grunted in reply. "That's just sad."

Olivia put the ID down and looked around the rest of the room. There wasn't much else here. She moved over the dresser, pulling open drawers. They were empty, but there was a woman's blouse and pants thrown haphazardly on the floor next to the dresser.

"Hey, I think I have something to actually take a sample of here." She heard Peter say from the bathroom. He sounded excited. "It's some kind of orange gel." he added after a moment. She heard him open the evidence kit.

_Orange gel? Where do I recognize that from?_ Olivia froze as the words triggered a memory from somewhere. Her mind raced as she tried to pinpoint the source. Looking back at the clothes on the floor, it started to come to her.

_"Hey Liv, check this out." John said from outside the bathroom._

_"What have you got?" she said, holding up a tissue with an orange smear on it that had been stuffed into the bathroom trash can. She placed it into an evidence bag and zipped it shut. Joining him in the next room, she saw him holding open the mini-fridge. There was a wad of white bed linens stuffed inside._

_"What do you make of that?" he asked._

_Olivia glanced over at the bed, the comforter was pulled up all the way to the pillows. Walking over to it, she grabbed a corner and threw it over the bed._

_"I guess that answers that question." John said coming over to look at the bare mattress._

Olivia shook herself free of the memory. Peter was speaking again.

"I'm sorry about my father back at the lab." he said distractedly. "He's always been a bit myopic."

Olivia walked over to the bed and crouched down, looking closely at the bed linens. She grabbed a corner of the sheet and ran it between her thumb and forefinger. It definitely wasn't hotel grade.

"You checking the thread count?" Peter joked, coming out of the bathroom with the evidence kit in one hand and an evidence vial in the other.

"Yes." she said seriously. "Her clothes things were left behind. But not his."

"And?" he replied quizzically.

"Open the refrigerator. There are gonna be sheets in it." she commanded, feeling the fury starting to creep up on her again.

Peter pulled open the refrigerator, revealing the wad of sheets she knew would be there. He gasped, "Hey, how'd you do that?" He looked over at her with shock.

Olivia stood and made for the exit, not able to stand being in cooped up in the dark room any longer. She yanked the door open and stormed out, just needing to get some air and clear her head. She heard Peter calling her name from inside the room as she walked away down the balcony.

"Olivia!" She heard him again, as he quickly caught up to her.

She spun around to face him.

"The cars that way." He thumbed back over his shoulder. "Olivia what's going on?"

"That's what he would do." she said in a rush. "He'd go to motels ahead of time, to replace the sheets with leak proof medical grade linen. That way he wouldn't leave any blood evidence behind."

"Who?" Peter asked in bewilderment, his blue eyes piercing.

Olivia recognized that she was being erratic, and slowed herself down with a deep breath. "I know who was in that room. Who the killer was."

He blinked in surprise at this, "The killer? I wasn't even sure it was a murder." He said in dry tone, still looking at her intently. "How do you know?

"I know his profile." she said, looking away from those eyes. "It was a case John and I worked years ago." Walking slowly back in the direction of the room, Peter matched her pace and she continued. "It was string of serial murders in New Jersey and New York, but we never caught the guy. After five victims, the murders just stopped." she finished bitterly.

Peter stopped her with a touch to her sleeve. "Look Olivia, you can't beat yourself up because you didn't catch the bastard on your first try."

Olivia shook her head and grimaced. "I feel like I've been asleep for the past year." She retorted angrily. "Every case that we worked together, I have to go back, and see what I missed." She turned, grabbing the balcony railing and looking out over the parking lot. The sun was just starting to clear the other wing of the hotel. It was going to be a long day; she should have tried to get some sleep the night before.

Feeling Peter step up next to her, she glanced over at him, seeing the vapor of his breath in the morning chill. There was a deep crease in his brow line as he squinted in the morning light.

"I don't suppose me telling you again that this isn't your fault will have much of an impact will it?" he asked without looking at her.

Olivia shrugged and let out a sad laugh. "No. The fact is that I didn't catch him, with or without John's help. And if I had, then this wouldn't have happened."

"How'd he do it, then?" Peter asked, leaning over the railing on his forearms. "What did you miss that could have lead to you catching him?"

Olivia frowned, not liking his line of thought. "I don't know." replied reluctantly. "There must have been something, though." She joined him in leaning over the railing as number of black SUV's pulled into the parking lot. She recognized them as government right away. Agents in black coats with FBI stamped on the back hopped out and started pulling equipment from the backs of the vehicles.

Peter shook his head in negation, "Or there could've been nothing, Olivia." he offered with a shrug. "That's just simple probability and statistics."

It was hard to argue with that, she had always liked statistics. She decided she was done with the conversation. "I need to brief those guys on the room," she said, eyeing the agents heading their way up the stairwell. "I'll meet you in the car."

* * *

**Peter** watched the streets slide past through the window of Olivia's SUV as they headed back to Cambridge. Olivia was chewing on her lip obsessively, and idly tapping her thumbs on the steering wheel to some tune only she could hear. She hadn't said a word since she'd got in the car.

"So tell me about this killer." He said, not able to take the silence anymore.

Olives glanced at him. "Okay…well, this was one of the first cases John and I worked on together. It had been passed down to us as an unsolved case, re-opened. Each time, he kill five young women, all within a few days time-."

"So there was a team before you, that didn't catch him either." Peter interrupted, giving her a look, which she pointedly ignored. The woman was damn stubborn.

"Yes," Olivia replied, continuing as if he hadn't spoken. "He'd pick them up at a bar, and take them to a motel…" she said, tossing her hair over shoulder. "Then he'd give them a muscle paralyzer. They'd be wide awake, but unable to move. He'd make an incision here," She ran a finger along the gum line of her top row of teeth, "along their gums. And then he'd pull their mouths open up to their eyes." She made as if to grab her lip and pull it over her nose up to her forehead.

Peter turned away with a grimace. _What the fuck?_ "Why would he do that?" he asked in disgust.

"I wasn't finished." she said, nodding her head as she watched the road in front of her. "It gets better. Then he would go in through the victim's nasal cavity, and remove a piece of their brain."

"Okay, that's enough." he said, leaning his head away from her. "You can stop right there. So all of this connects to magic old man-baby and the pregnant woman…how?" he asked incredulously.

"I don't know." Olivia replied simply. "But there's a connection somewhere. The muscle paralyzer he used was bright orange. So if that's our sample is, then I'm telling you, this is our guy. Which means-"

"He's gonna kill again." Peter finished for her, realizing what she had already known.

Olivia looked over at him and nodded. "Yep." There was a grim expression on her face.

"How do you deal with all this?" he asked her uncertainly after a moment.

"What do you mean? Deal with what?" She looked at him quizzically.

"I dunno…" Peter said shortly. "All this." He gestured vaguely in front of him with both hands. "How do you do this every day?"

Olivia studied the road in front of her with narrowed eyes before replying. "What choice do I have?" she asked after a moment. "It's my job. If I don't do it, who will?" she said wistfully, there was a haunted look on her face.

Peter didn't have an answer to that. She was talking about duty. Something he'd never had much of a sense of, to anyone or anything, and certainly not his country. He'd spent most of his adult life trying to get as far away from here as possible. He wondered if it had been her parents who'd instilled such integrity in her. Being raised by Walter might explain his lack of it.

They rode in silence for several miles, until he fought back a yawn and rubbed his eyes as he felt exhaustion begin to creep up on him. "You mind stopping for some coffee?" he asked her hopefully. He was going to be useless soon, if didn't get some caffeine in him, and some food, feeling his stomach rumble.

Olivia cracked a smile and gave him an appraising look. "You buying?"

"I guess I am." Peter said, returning her look. "You got a place in mind?" There was a look of anticipation on her face. _She definitely likes her coffee,_ he thought to himself in amusement.

"I do." she replied eagerly, taking the next exit off the highway.

* * *

**Olivia** had been right on. The coffee-house she'd taken him to was excellent, and it turned out he'd been right the other day about how she liked her coffee. He had jumped out of her SUV before she could give him her order, and he'd chosen black with one sugar for her again, to see if she would make any comment on it. He'd watched her covertly as she took her first sip, and saw the pleased expression on her face at the flavor. The coffee-house also had pastries, so he'd selected several which he thought Walter and Astrid might like. Olivia had refused the one he'd got for her, claiming all she needed was her coffee. He supposed he should have known, the woman was rail thin and he'd yet to see her actually eat anything.

"You do eat, right?" he asked her as they approached the Harvard campus. "I don't think I've seen you eat a single thing since we've met."

She gave him a pointed look. "Of course I eat, Peter." she said with a roll of her eyes. "You just haven't been around me enough to see." she finished in a dignified voice, a slight upturn to her chin.

There was an opening there if he dared take it, but it was way too soon to be making a statement like that. "If you say so." he said with a laugh, choosing the path of least resistance.

Olivia pulled her SUV up to the curb close to the Kresge Building and came to stop.

"You're not coming in?" he asked, trying not to let any disappointment enter his voice.

She shook her head, "No, I gotta run to the office and meet up with Charlie. I'll be back here later today. Let me know as soon as you learn anything."

"Will do boss," Peter said, getting out of the car, balancing the pastries and cup tray in one hand. He was about to shut the door when she spoke again.

"Peter?"

He stuck his head back in the open door. "Yeah?" He replied, raising his eyebrows.

"Thanks for the coffee." Olivia said, holding her up her styrofoam cup.

Peter replied with a grin, "I told you before, Dunham. Anytime." He held her gaze for a moment before pulling out and shutting the door. She threw him a wave as she drove off, leaving him to juggle the pastries and coffee across the quad to the Kresge Building entrance.

When he managed to get the lab doors open without dropping anything, he was met with silence from within, neither Walter nor Astrid in sight. "Helloo!" he called out as he set his burden down on the first counter top he came to, and tossed his coat over the back of stool.

"Peter!" he heard his father exclaim from across the lab. "Over here, son!"

He moved in the direction he heard Walter's voice, the man himself still hidden as looked around. The pregnant woman and the man-baby corpses were still on the tables they had been when he'd left earlier. He hoped his father hadn't got distracted.

"I'm right here, Peter." Walter said, sounding like he was near Gene's stall.

Peter moved closer to the cow, and to his surprise found Walter, seated on a stool in the stall near her back legs. He was pumping the cows udders, squirting milk into a bucket underneath.

"What are you doing, Walter?" he asked, still feeling some shock at this strange sight.

"Well, I'm doing two things." His father replied, alternating between hands as he milked the cow steadily. "I've been waiting for you to get back, and I'm doing her," he gave the cow and affectionate pat on her flank, "a favor. She was in some considerable discomfort."

"She told you that did she?" he asked dryly. "You were supposed to be doing extensive testing...remember the eighty year old man-baby?" He flipped his thumb back over his should towards the corpses.

Walter gave him a hurt look. "The tests are done, complete. You underestimate me, my boy." he paused, then nodded his head. "Which, I suppose I deserve. But, there's wonderful news all around. The DNA results confirm my suspicions that the woman was impregnated by a man who is the result of experiments identical to those conducted by me in this very lab around thirty years ago."

His father sounded excited at the prospect, which Peter found somewhat disturbing, but it was good news at least. "So you know how this happened? What triggered the baby to age like that?" he asked, impressed that he'd figured it out so quickly.

Walter met his gaze for a moment before shaking his head. "No, not at all. In fact, the specifics of it elude me completely." He stood and wiped his hands on towel hanging over the rail of the stall. Grabbing the pail he'd collected the milk in, he ducked under the bar hedging Gene in and deposited at the mild into a cooler of ice sitting on a table nearby.

He should have known that it wouldn't be that easy. "So what's this wonderful news then?" Peter asked testily. Knowing his father, it would probably be something completely inane.

"It's wonderful because I remembered something else." his father said slyly. "I remembered where I parked my car." He had a huge grin on his face, almost making him look like was senile.

"Really?" Peter said skeptically, "You remember where you parked your car, seventeen years ago?" This he had to see. He tried to remember what had Walter been driving back then. Had it been station wagon of some sort?

"Yes, it's in a little garage over in Dorchester." his father said as he grabbed his coat off a table. "We should get going."

"Hold up," Peter said, moving in front of Walter. "What makes you think it's still there? And Dorchester? Really?" Dorchester was one of the more dangerous areas of Boston, why his father would pick there was beyond him.

"What's wrong with Dorchester? It was founded in 1630, you know." Walter said, apparently offended be his son's comment.

"Oh nothing really, it's only the crime capital of Boston." Peter answered sarcastically. "Why would it still be there, Walter"

"I own the garage, Peter. Why wouldn't it still be there? It can't hurt to check at least." he countered reasonably, moving around Peter and spotting the pastries. "Are these for me? I love pastries!" He grabbed one and started devouring it with great alacrity.

"Those are for you and Astrid." Peter explained, putting one aside for her. "Where is she anyway?"

"Who?" Walter asked around a mouthful of pastry filling.

"Olivia's assistant?" Peter asked in irritation, exasperated at Walter's refusal to remember her.

"Oh, yes the young woman that's been helping me around the lab." Walter smiled fondly as he spoke of her. "I sent her out to buy me some Red Vines. I haven't had any in seventeen years, Peter."

"There's a lot of things you haven't had in seventeen years, Walter." Peter said wryly. "Let's try to keep sending the FBI agent to get them to a minimum."

He watched as his father finished off the pastry, and began licking his fingers like a child. The contrast between his father's intellect, and the way he behaved was staggering. He wondered what his mother would think of his father if she could see him now, with all his strange eccentricities. She might even prefer him this way, knowing how sad she had been…before.

Pulling himself out of his depressive meanderings, he grabbed his coat and pulled it back on. "You coming Walter? Let's go find this car of yours."

Walter clapped his hands in excitement. "It'll be an adventure! Onward Peter!"

.

The cab ride to Dorchester was about as uneventful as Peter could have hoped for with Walter. The real difficulty came once they had arrived, and his father had trouble remembering the exact alley his garage opened into. He had already instructed the cab driver to take them down several different streets, each one more run down than the last. The driver had thrown suspicious looks at the two of them through the rear view mirror for the last ten minutes as Walter tried to jog his memory for the precise location.

"Walter, are you sure that your garage was even in Dorchester?" Peter asked irritably. It had been fun for a short while, but after the third attempt at locating the garage it was starting to get a bit silly. He massaged his temple gently, starting to feel a headache forming at the situation. He should have known it wouldn't be simple; nothing ever was with his father.

"Yes, yes I'm sure, Peter." Walter replied absently. He closed his eyes and started mumbling under his breath, while his hands began directing a silent orchestra that only he could hear. His shoulders rocked slightly to the cadence of his thinking.

Just when Peter thought the cabbie might order them from the cab, Walter lurched on his seat.

"Aha, I have it!" he exclaimed excitedly. "It's in the alley between Lithgow and Brent!" There was a huge grin on his face, like he'd just won the lottery.

"That's what you said with the last three places." Peter said with skepticism. "What makes this one different?" He saw the driver roll his eyes through the mirror.

"Because I just remembered why I bought that particular garage. I loved John Lithgow in _The World According to Garp_. It's one my favorite movies from 1982." his father said proudly. "He was robbed of an Oscar that year, you know son." Walter still appeared to be upset about John Lithgow's misfortune, judging by the sliver of outrage that he could detect in his voice.

"Let's hope so, Walter. Olivia's gonna meet us back at the lab later, we can't be gone all day." He said with a bit of impatience coming through.

"Have some faith, Peter." his father replied, glancing over at him. Peter didn't miss the glint in Walter's eye at the mention of Olivia, but decided that it wasn't worth commenting on. Bringing it up would only encourage him more.

He watched the streets roll past as the taxi driver steered them to what would hopefully be their final destination. There was a lot of crime in Dorchester, but it was mostly street gang related, which made the chance of running into one of Big Eddie's guys here fairly remote. Eddie Keating was not a true mobster in the fashion of the Italian mafia, more of a glorified loan shark, but he could still be dangerous to those who owed him. Which Peter did, and not a small amount either. It was not something he wanted to take a chance on. Eddie could be unpredictable at the best of times.

Feeling Walter shift in the seat next to him, he came out of his musings and noticed they had arrived at Lithgow Street. His father was leaning forward, looking intently out the window as they slowly made their way along the rows of housing. Peter saw no evidence that this was the right place, and was about to say so when his father slapped the seat in front of him.

"This is it! Take the next left." he instructed the cab driver, reaching his arm over the seat in front of him and pointing out the windshield.

The cabbie leaned away from Walter hand uneasily, but followed his instructions. Peter reminded himself to give the poor guy a nice tip for having to put up with his father's shenanigans.

The driver pulled up to the curb and Peter tossed a twenty over the bench. "If you wouldn't mind staying here until we come back, there's another twenty in it for you?" he asked, holding up another bill as Walter exited the vehicle.

"Sure thing buddy. You got ten minutes." The cabbie responded, looking at him through the mirror.

"Fifteen. You got to give us a few minutes to get there and back, you know?" Peter replied smoothly.

"Whatever. Fifteen it is." the driver agreed reluctantly.

Peter climbed out and joined Walter on the curb. "So where is it?" he asked.

"This way." Walter said and started off down the sidewalk.

Peter followed him, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets as the cold wind whipped through the trees lining the street. He was going to need to invest in a good pair of gloves and maybe a scarf if he was going to be spending much time outside. He'd forgotten how cold the winters of Boston actually were. As they neared the entrance to the alley in question, he looked around, making sure they weren't on anyone's radar. No one seemed to be paying them much attention. There were just some kids playing throwing a football down the street a ways from the two of them, and an older man picking trash from the street corner at the other end of the block. Deciding that he was being paranoid, he trailed Walter as he turned down the alley.

His father marched about one-quarter of the way down the block before stopping in front of an old ramshackle detached garage, wedged in between an old apartment building on one side and a fenced in dumpster enclosure on the other side. The garage door was one of those old metal fold up types, and had been heavily graffitied. There was a heavy-duty combination lock securing the door closed, and amazingly it appeared un-tampered with.

Walter quickly grabbed the lock, spinning the dial and reciting the combination. "Three, one, four, five, one, nine." he gave the lock a yank and it sprang open. "Tuh hah!" he cried jubilantly.

"Pi to the sixth digit." Peter said shaking his head. Of course it would be something like that. He watched as Walter grabbed the handle at pulled the door up with the grinding of rusted metal being forced to move.

The interior of the garage was dark, with a few rays of light managing to penetrate the grimy windows on one side. There were rows of shelves along one wall, packed with random things that Peter could only call junk. Near the back was a vehicle illuminated in a shaft of murky light. It was definitely a station wagon.

Walter rushed forward, running his hands along the hood in a gentle caress, like it was an old lover. "I can't fathom that it's still here after all this time." He said in a thrilled tone. "Look at it, Peter. Isn't it magnificent?"

"This is your car?" Peter asked dryly, looking it over. "Of course it is." He answered his own question a moment later. He smeared a thick layer of dust away on one of the back windows and peered inside. It was full of old boxes stuffed full with what appeared to be papers, maybe files. "So what, you got cars stuffed with papers all over town?" he asked turning to face Walter.

His father nodded intensely. "Yes. And not just cars, you have no idea where I have hidden things."

Walter opened the driver side door and looked inside. After a moment, he began passing objects out to Peter, an old coat, then a jar filled with some cloudy fluid. Looking at it closer, he saw a severed hand floating inside.

"Friend of yours?" he asked, holding up the jar and giving it a shake. The hand bounced around inside as Walter looked at it curiously.

"Oh, I certainly hope not." His father said dismissively. "C'mon boy, we need to get these files back to the lab." He started grabbing boxes and hauling them out.

Peter set the coat and hand jar down on the roof of the car. He was not lugging all this stuff back to the cab. Moving around to the front of the car, he felt around for the hood release latch. Finding it, he struggled with it for a few moments before it released, and raised the hood with a squeal.

"What are you doing, son?" he heard his father ask from the other side of the hood.

"You may be able to reanimate dead guinea pigs or…whatever," Peter replied as he looked the engine over. It was going to need a new battery, he could tell that right away. "but I, can bring anything mechanical back from the dead." He looked over the belts and ignition wiring; both appeared to be not too dry rotted. The good thing was that the car was carbureted, as long as there was juice, and fuel was getting to the cylinders it should start.

"We need to go to a part store. Let's go." He told his father.

Walter nodded, barely containing his excitement. "Do you think you can get her running again, Peter?"

"We'll see Walter. C'mon." They shut the door behind them and hurried back to the cab, which was still waiting for them. After hopping in, Peter directed the driver to take them to the nearest auto parts store.

* * *

**Olivia** pulled her SUV into her normal spot at the Federal Building. After dropping Peter off, she'd been unable to reach Charlie, and had to settle for leaving a message. She sat in silence for a few moments while she finished her coffee. Hopefully Charlie would be able to come through with her request. She didn't want to have to go to Broyles with it. It would be nice to close her first case for Fringe Division without needing to ask for any help, from him at least. She drank down the last remnants of her drink with a sigh, and headed inside the building.

After stopping by her desk for any messages she might have missed, of which there were none, she went in search of Charlie. The almost chaotic activity that had been the FBI response to Flight 627 was gone, and it appeared to be a normal day at the office. The coworkers she was familiar with waved their hands in hello as she passed them by and she returned their waves with a smile, but didn't stop to talk. She had never been one for much small talk, except amongst close friends or family.

After not finding Charlie at his desk, she looked around, wondering where he could have gone. Maybe she could ask Broyles for this little bit of help. As she moved towards his office, she heard a familiar voice from one of conference rooms off the corridor she was in.

Olivia walked over to the open door and saw Charlie giving a roomful of agents their morning briefing. She looked at her watch. Of course that's where he would be; he hadn't been up all night and would be going about his normal morning routine. Sleeping that night was not going to be optional for her.

"Memorial services for Agent Scott are being planned for late in the week." Charlie was saying as he stood at the head of the long conference room table at the opposite end of the room. "I know everybody's heard a lot of things surrounding the circumstances of his death, but I just want to be clear. John Scott was one of us… and we will pay him the respect of considering him innocent until the inquiry can establish the full facts of the matter."

He noticed Olivia standing near the open door. She nodded down the corridor, hoping he would get the hint. He gave her a nod in return before finishing up.

"Now, as far as any contacts, our official word right now is no comment. Dismissed." He said to the agents motioned for them to go.

As they filed out, none of them really met her eye, and she could almost hear what they were thinking about her and John. Olivia didn't know for sure if there were rumors about the two of them, she could only assume it from the way they were acting. She felt her face growing hot and she turned away from them entirely.

"What are you doing here, Liv?" Charlie asked, coming to stand before her.

"I left you message." Olivia replied in explanation. She felt her face returning to its normal color.

"I know." He replied in a puzzled tone. "You want to open up a twelve-year-old serial case. The Brain Surgeon?"

"Yeah," she said. "I don't think he retired, Charlie."

"What makes you say that?" he asked, rubbing his smooth chin.

He always kept his face and chin completely smooth, she observed. Sometimes she wondered if he shaved more than once a day. _So very different from Peter_, the thought came from nowhere. She blinked the thought away, wondering why it had been there at all before replying.

"Some evidence Peter and I found at a crime scene." Olivia said, ignoring the slight shake of his head at Peter's name. She knew he didn't understand why Peter and Walter were working for the FBI on a now more than temporary basis, and most likely didn't approve. "It was the same m.o. as what the brain surgeon killer used in his killings."

Charlie didn't question her on that. He knew her and John had worked on that case, had been the last agents to do so. He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before replying.

"How long is Broyles gonna have you on special assignment, Liv?" Charlie asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice. "What the hell has he got you working on anyways?"

Olivia looked away from him, feeling her shame at being duped by John rise up again. Once she had her features under control again, she met his eye. "You knew didn't you? About me and John?" she asked hesitantly.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at her, "I'd like to think I have some powers of deduction." he said with a wry look on his face.

"I took advantage of our friendship, Charlie. I'm sorry." She said sincerely. "You kept quiet about our relationship, even though you didn't approve. You didn't have to do that." Olivia wondered how she could have a friend like him. He was too good to her, she didn't deserve it.

Charlie shrugged noncommittally. "I hadn't seen you that happy in a long time. Look Olivia, you have nothing to prove."

"Yes I do, Charlie." she said, nodding her head forcefully. "I have to live with the fact that I didn't see him for who he really was. I have to live with the feeling that whatever awful things he did, I should have stopped them." The anger was bubbling again, like it had back at the hotel with Peter. She wondered if she would ever stop feeling this way.

"Livy, you can't-" he began.

"Blame myself?" Olivia interrupted. "Mostly Charlie, I just want to take a shower from the inside out." She said running her hands through her hair. She did not want to hear again that it wasn't her fault. It was her fault, of that she was certain.

Charlie looked at her with sad eyes, then nodded. "I'll get you the case files. Where do you want me to send them?"

"To the lab." she responded instantly, "I'll probably be spending a lot of time there, you know." She ignored the slight tightening of his jaw at this. Thankfully, he chose not to make any more of an issue of it.

"Okay." was all he said, walked past her down the corridor.

She watched him go for a moment. He was too good for her. "Thanks Charlie." she called after him.

He looked back over his shoulder at her. There was a smile on his face as he accepted her thanks with a nod.

Olivia turned the other way, and was about to return to her desk to collect a few things she wanted to have in her office at the lab when she heard Broyles voice call her name from behind.

"Dunham!"

She turned to face him as he moved towards her. "Sir?" she said quizzically.

"How'd it go at the motel?" he asked, his brown eyes watching her closely.

Olivia wasn't sure if he was asking what they found or how Peter had performed at the scene. Since he wasn't specific, she decided to just go over the facts.

"We have the pregnant woman's name, her ID was left behind." She stated neutrally. "Peter took a sample of an orange substance he found on the bathroom vanity. He's having Walter look it over now. That, coupled with the bed linens being removed and hidden in the room refrigerator, leads me to believe that we're dealing with the same killer I investigated in a previous case. The Brain Surgeon."

Broyles eyes widened at this. "Really?" he asked in a startled voice. Apparently he'd heard of the case. "You need anything? Old case files?"

She felt her face threatening to go red again. Of course she could have just asked him. Why had she thought otherwise? "No, I already asked Agent Francis to pull them for me."

"Okay. I can see you're on top of things." he said with a nod. "Keep me up to date. Good work Dunham." He walked away before she could respond, in the direction Charlie had gone.

Making a note to herself to not underestimate him again, she returned to her desk. Grabbing her favorite pen, and a few of the framed pictures she had of Rachel and Ella, she looked around for anything else she might need. Spying the old radio she sometimes listened to when she was in the office late working on paperwork, she grabbed it too. Satisfied she had everything, Olivia returned to her SUV and pulled out of the Federal Building garage.

.

As Olivia was making the trek across the Harvard quad towards the Kresge Building entrance, she suddenly heard a loud noise like a gunshot, then another. Spinning around with her hand dropped to the butt of her gun, she looked around for the source of the explosion. Her eyes fell on an old, dirty brown and white station wagon pulling up to the curb. The driver had his hand out the window and was waving it her direction.

She looked closer and almost dropped her burden of pictures and radio in shock. It was Peter behind the wheel. He had a huge smile on his face as the car jerked to a stop with another bang, which made a matching smile form on her face. _Where did he get that car? And why?_ Olivia asked herself, shaking her head in amusement. The man was full of surprises. She could see Walter in the passenger seat, with an even bigger grin on his face if that were possible.

Olivia waited as the two men exited the car, and hurried towards her across the grass. Walter was carrying what looked like several old boxes in both hands.

"Agent Dunham." Peter said, still grinning as he approached.

"What is that…thing…you're driving, Peter?" she asked, shaking her head in mock disgust.

.

.

.

**Thanks for reading! Leave a review if you like, I appreciate feedback. Thx :)**


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**.**

**-Harvard Yard**

**Peter **wasn't sure if the question was serious or not. Olivia seemed shocked at the sight of Walter's old car. He glanced back where it was parked along the curb amidst the dignified air the university seemed to give off. Maybe she had a point as he looked at in full sunlight. The car looked like a pile dog crap sitting on a Persian rug. The thought caused a snort of laughter to escape through his nostrils in a huff.

Olivia seemed to be struggling to hold her disgusted look in place as Walter came forward, still bearing his file boxes.

"That's my old car, Agent Dunham!" Walter said, pride filling his voice. "It's a 1970 Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser. Isn't it wonderful?"

Olivia shot a look in Peter's direction. With a shrug and a nod of his head, he confirmed it with a crooked smile.

"Huh. It's…very nice, Walter." she said politely, a thin smile on her face.

"Peter got it running again, didn't you son?" Walter said exuberantly. Before Peter could respond, he started toward the lab. "Oh, I need to tell that young lady, Aspirin. She'll want to hear about this." he muttered to himself as walked away, leaving Peter and Olivia behind.

They watched him go in silence for a moment before their eyes met. Olivia tilted her head and regarded him with a doubtful look on her face.

"Seriously? That thing? Is it even street legal?" she nodded towards Walter's jalopy.

Peter shrugged innocently, "It wasn't my idea." Not completely at least.

Olivia gave him knowing look, "Really." she said dubiously. "Why don't I quite believe you?" Her green eyes were mischievous.

"Alright, it may have been my idea to get it running." He admitted, looking back towards the car. "But I had good intentions, I swear. The back of it's full of Walter's old files."

Her eyes widened, "Really?" she asked, this time her tone was unmistakably eager. "What kind of files?" Olivia had an intent look on her face, like a cat about to pounce.

"The kind that could possibly contain information pertaining to experiments done on human growth acceleration." Peter replied, holding back a grin. He didn't want to seem too eager to see her reaction, even though he was. It was a serious subject matter after all.

A crowd of students began to flow around them on the sidewalk as Olivia processed what he had said. Her eyes remained fixed on his until she blinked, and let out a gasp.

"This could be what I was missing the first time." she said softly, almost to herself. Their eyes met again, and she nodded in the direction of the lab. "I'll go have Astrid help you bring the files in."

Peter gave her a questioning look and she glanced down at her hands and the few small items she was carrying already, shrugging helplessly. He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in response at her blatant misuse of power. The look she gave him in return was so innocent he couldn't help but break their silent back and forth with a gasp of laughter.

"Alright, you win Dunham, this time." he said cheerily, tugging his coat tightly around himself. He didn't think it would be physically possible to refuse a request of hers when she looked at him that way, and he was certain that she knew it now.

Olivia regarded him with a faint smile. "If that makes you feel better, Peter. I'll see you inside." she replied, clearly holding back her own grin or he might have thought she was serious by her authoritative tone.

She turned and joined the flow of students walking away from him. As he watched her leave, a gust of wind suddenly whipped up and Peter had to close his eyes at the stinging cold. _This is not good_, he thought darkly to himself. _I barely know her, and she already has me wrapped around her little finger. _It was not a situation he was used to, in fact it was the exact opposite. Peter began to feel a familiar itch as he started moving towards the old station wagon, the precursor to the moment when the compulsion to get the hell out there would be too strong to resist. It would be so easy, to hop in Walter's car and just drive. Away from Boston, from his insane father and his even more insane research, away from those green eyes he just couldn't seem to shake free of. As the he drew closer to the car, the itch grew stronger, becoming an almost physical presence at his back, forcing him to the driver's door. Before he knew it, the door was open and he had a foot inside when he caught himself.

_What the hell am I doing? _He was frozen in indecision, unable to go forward and unable to pull out at the same time. The moment drew out until he thought he might split in two.

"Hey Peter." a female voice said from directly behind him, shattering the compulsion into a thousand pieces.

His chin sagged on his chest and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He swallowed and turned around to see Astrid looking at him curiously.

"What're you doing?" she asked, giving him a sideways look, her eyes questioning.

Peter held up the keys that he had somehow retrieved from his pocket without realizing. "I forgot the keys." He replied, forcing a smile on his face.

Astrid nodded slowly, the askance look still on her face for a moment before she relaxed. "Okay…well, Agent Dunham sent me out to help you with some files?"

"Yeah, they're in the back." He moved to the back of the car and opened the hatch. He grabbed a box and handed it to her, before grabbing a couple for himself, leaving several more behind. The two of them started back towards the lab with their burdens.

"What do you think of our chances at getting her to help with all this stuff?" He asked her, straining under the heavy load.

"I would say probably not very good." Astrid replied. "She is the boss, you know. I think it's called delegation."

"She's not my boss." Peter said with certitude. He caught Astrid's smirk out of the corner of his eye at his words.

"Oh, really?" she queried, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He said, stopping them both in the middle of the sidewalk.

"You think I'm blind?" Astrid asked candidly. "That I haven't seen how you watch her?" Her head was tilted in that way that women do sometimes, when confronting someone foolish.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Peter said quickly, wishing fervently he hadn't brought it up. It was easy to forget the diminutive woman was a FBI agent. He should have just kept his damned mouth shut.

"Whatever." She said with an arched eyebrow. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna say anything. I think it's sweet." Smiling, she resumed her progress towards the lab, leaving him behind. After a moment she looked back at him. "Besides, she probably already knows." With that said, Astrid went up the Kresge Building steps and disappeared inside.

Peter stared after her, the blood pounding in his ears. She was messing with him, payback for the other day when he'd done the same to her over Walter's mess. Anything else was too embarrassing to contemplate. Steeling his nerve, he followed her up the steps and into the building.

* * *

**Olivia** looked over the pictures of her family she'd arranged about her desk in the lab office. They were the latest photos Rachel had sent of her and Ella. One of them was a pose with them together, Ella on Rachel's lap with an adorable smile on her face. She missed them both dearly. Ella would be turning five soon, and Olivia hadn't seen them in almost a year. She wondered how Rachel and Greg were doing, the last time she'd been around them she had detected a tension between them that was almost palpable. Her sister had habit of making bad choices when they were growing up, and in Olivia's opinion, her marriage to Greg was only the latest, even if he was Ella's father. She made a promise to herself to call her sister soon, maybe after this case was over.

Turning her attention back to the task at hand, she opened the case file that she had requested from Charlie. There had been a junior agent waiting with the file on the bench outside the lab upon her arrival; how Charlie had managed to pull the file and get it here before her was mystery in itself. The file contained all the compiled witness statements and crime scene write-ups, along with the autopsy reports from the medical examiner. The crime scene photos were particularly gruesome, showing closeup shots of the victims bloodied and bruised faces where the skin was cut and stretched. There were several diagrams of the human brain, and CAT scan images, all which highlighted the removal of the victim's pituitary gland.

"Walter?" Olivia called through the open office door.

Walter looked up from a complicated looking machine sitting on the a table in once corner of the lab.

"Have you started on the analysis of the sample Peter took from the hotel?" She asked. Though she was almost certain that it was the brain surgeon killer, having confirmation that it was the same paralyzing agent would be one less thing to worry about.

"Agent Dunham! You're as quiet as a mouse." he replied, wiping his hands on his lab coat and moving towards the office door. "When did you come in?"

Olivia closed her eyes at his constant forgetfulness. "Walter, I came in right after...nevermind. The sample?"

"Ahh yes! I just put in the mass spectrometer." he said enthusiastically from the doorway. "We should know soon. Though from the small amount I tasted, I would say it was suxamethonium chloride, or one of its derivatives, which is indeed a paralytic."

"You...tasted it?" she asked, her jaw slack. "Is that safe?"

Before he could reply, the lab door banged open. Looking out the office window, she saw Astrid struggling with a large box, feeling gingerly for the stairs down into the lab in front of her. Hurrying out to meet her, she took the unexpectedly heavy box and set it down on a lab table.

Walter opened the box and began digging through the files, shaking his head occasionally at the contents.

Looking back at the door, she glanced over at Astrid. "Where's Peter?"

"He should be right behind me." she answered. Olivia noticed that there was a trace of humor in her voice.

She looked at Astrid curiously, "What's up?"

The younger woman returned her look pensively before replying. "Oh, nothing really, Peter and I had a discussion about the delegation of authority."

Olivia grinned, remembering the look Peter had given her outside. "I'll bet you did."

They shared a laugh that was interrupted by the door banging open again, and Peter entering almost hidden behind the two boxes he was carrying. Olivia hustled over to him, grabbing the box on top before he fell down the steps. She turned and placed it on the table next to the one Walter was looking through obsessively.

"Thanks." he said gratefully, though not quite looking her in the eye for some reason. He set the box down next to the other and looked over at Astrid. "There's a couple more?"

"Sure thing." she returned.

The two of them went back up the steps towards the exit. Olivia watched with curious eyes as Peter leaned down and said something to the junior agent, to which she responded with a shake of her head. He seemed relieved at her response by the way his shoulders relaxed. Pleased to see her team working well together, she returned to the office and looked through the case file again.

Flipping through the paperwork, she came to sheet that she'd been looking for. Scanning down the page, she frowned, hoping that this didn't mean she'd been wrong.

"Walter have you heard of something called succinylcholine?" she asked loudly, trying to get his attention.

He looked upwards, head cocked to one side in thought. "Of course," he said without turning to face her. "It's a paralytic, used to be given during lethal injections. Another name for suxamethonium chloride."

Olivia exhaled a deep breath. So she'd been right, assuming Walter's taste buds were correct, which for some reason she trusted as much as his machine. Now she just had to find the connection between the old murders, and the accelerated aging of the woman's child. She began reading the paperwork again, when she heard Peter and Astrid return with more of Walter's old files.

"This is the last of them." Astrid said, setting the box down with a sigh next to Walter.

"That will do." Walter said, reaching for her hand. "Hello, I'm Dr. Walter Bishop."

"Yes, Dr. Bishop," Astrid replied patiently. "We've met before. I'm Junior Agent Astrid Farnsworth." She shook his hand again. "In fact, you were just telling me about your old car a few minutes ago, remember?"

Walter blinked, then gave her a tremulous smile. "Of course, I won't forget again, dear."

Olivia watched their interaction, remembering Peter telling her that he suspected his father liked to act more flaky than he actually was. She thought he probably enjoyed the attention it brought him.

"Third times a charm, right?" Peter told Astrid sarcastically. He turned to his father. "Now, Walter we'd probably be a lot more help to you, if you'd tell us what you're looking for in these files that was so urgent for us to bring them back here." He began removing the files from the box in front of and spreading them out in front of him.

His father looked up from the box he was digging through. "My research, Peter. Belly and I did all manner of studies on the human brain and the surrounding tissue." Walter explained, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. "Of particular interest to us are the Sella Turcica, Diaphragma Sellae, and the dural folds of the Pituitary Fossa in which the pituitary gland sits, situated in the sphenoid bone..."

Olivia watched as Peter nodded as if he understood exactly what his father was talking about. She hadn't understood a word except for pituitary gland, probably because she'd just seen it in the case file. Quickly shuffling through the file, she found the CAT scan image again. _Pituitary Gland Excision _was printed in bold letter across the top.

"You said pituitary gland, right?" she asked, cutting off Walter mid sentence.

"I don't know, did I?" He looked back at Olivia, a disoriented expression on his face.

"Because that's how he did it." she said, getting up and showing Walter the image. "How he killed. He'd perform surgery on the victims, removing the pituitary gland, before he overdosed them on anesthesia."

Walter studied the image, his head bobbing in thought. "Yes, yes of course. We need to look for anything with pituitary in it." He handed Olivia a stack of files to go through.

"I'm sorry, I don't get it." Astrid admitted, grabbing a stack of her own to start on. "I mean, what's the link between this, and what happened at the hospital?"

Olivia looked up from her pile, silently agreeing with the sentiment.

Walter gave her a fatherly look. "Astute question, my dear. Advanced, rapid aging, like that which is caused by the disease called Progeria, can be induced artificially by manipulating the pituitary gland." Satisfied with his explanation, he began thinking out loud, gesturing with his thumb and forefinger. "P for pituitary...p...p..." he turned away from them, muttering under his breath.

Her and Astrid shared a look of confusion, then turned their combined attention on Peter. He gave them both an amused look, before explaining, focusing on Astrid.

"All the hormones in the human body that control growth, which is aging really, are in the brain." he said, pointing at his head. "And the pituitary gland is the boss." He gestured towards them, as if awaiting any further questions.

Olivia thought she understood the link, and with that in mind began scanning through the files in her stack. She caught Walter in her peripheral vision still trying to trigger his memory, eyes closed in concentration.

"P, okay. Pinoche...pinto. Penny...Ah yes, yes." his voice started building into a crescendo, his hand feeling the air in front of him.

Olivia observed him briefly before quickly sweeping her eyes over the last few folders in her stack. Seeing nothing of interest, she was about to move to a new pile when something clicked with Walter's mutterings. Quickly backtracking to a file she'd already passed over, the name on the file struck her.

"Progeria. You said it was related to aging?" she asked Walter.

He nodded in response, "Penny...penny..." he continued without elaborating.

"What about a case file by a Dr. Penrose on Progeria?"

Walter froze. "Yes. Penrose." Then with a start he blinked, "Penrose! I remember him!" he beamed, his hands fidgeting as he moved in front of her. "He was a former colleague of mine. Though he suffered from a severe case of pseudo-folliculitis nuchae."

Olivia glanced at where Peter was sitting for clarification.

"Razor burn." He offered dryly, a slight shake to his head.

"He would know!" Walter declared. "He was there when we ran the experiments on rapid growth."

Olivia caught Astrid's attention and drew her eyes to the workstation on the other side of the room. The junior agent got the hint and crossed over to it and began typing away.

"Was he the only other researcher involved?" Peter interjected, leaning back in his chair. "What about Bell?" He crossed his hands behind his head, staring upwards in thought.

"Belly?" Walter shook his head. "We didn't start work together until a few years later."

"Was there anyone else that might have the knowledge to have continued your work?" Olivia questioned.

"None that I can think of." Walter relied, pacing back and forth. "But obviously someone has, and has had a breakthrough, Penrose could possibly lead us to that person."

Astrid looked up from the terminal she'd been using. "Dr. Claus Penrose." She stated, reading off the screen. "He moved to the east coast two years ago. He's a professor at Boston College."

He was local. Olivia grabbed her coat and the file containing photos from the hospital. Finally, she had a lead to follow. Sitting around didn't suit her, she was a woman of action. "I'm going to go interview Dr. Penrose." She told the group, throwing her coat on as she moved towards the exit.

Peter stood, grabbing his coat also. "You mind if I tag along?" He asked, a hopeful look on his face.

Olivia considered his request for a moment. It would be nice to have some company, to bounce ideas off of if nothing else. "Sure. You ready?"

He nodded, pulling his coat on, and followed her out to her car.

They rode in silence as she drove them towards the tollway that would deliver them close to Boston College's campus. She watched Peter shift uncomfortably in his seat, then make as if considering turning the radio on, after which he would fiddle with the center console between the seats, like he was curious to know what was inside but thought it rude to look without asking. He repeated the routine no less than three times as she observed him peripherally.

"What's on your mind, Peter?" she asked finally, taking pity on him. He looked chagrined at being called out for his behavior.

"So...I was thinking about our killer." he started, glancing at her hesitantly. "I may not be a trained agent like yourself, and maybe you've considered this already, but what if Loraine Alcott wasn't his first victim?" He met her gaze, and she nodded for him to continue. "I mean, you said yourself that the killings had stopped years ago. Nobody was looking for him. Maybe she was the second or third victim, and no one thought to-"

"The FBI hasn't been notified yet." Olivia interrupted, taking his meaning. Why hadn't she thought of that? She ran her hands through her hair, tucking her bangs to the side. This business of not sleeping needed to end.

"Exactly." Peter said, exhaling a sigh.

"I need to call Charlie." She told him, picking up her phone.

Olivia dialed Charlie's number with one hand as she took the on-ramp on to the freeway.

"Agent Francis." Charlie said, picking up on the first ring.

"Hey Charlie, it's me." she answered, putting it on speaker.

"Dunham. What's up?" he asked in his typical manner. She could picture him leaning back in his desk chair as he spoke.

"I need a cross check of any recent unsolved homicides." she requested, "Find out if any bodies have turned up with a missing pituitary gland."

"Oh, you say the sweetest things, Dunham." he replied facetiously.

"Only to you, Charlie." she said, ending the call. She glanced over at Peter. "Nice job." she said truthfully.

He shrugged awkwardly. "Only if it turns up something."

"No really, I mean it." Olivia said earnestly. "I should have thought of that as soon we thought it might be the same killer. I haven't been sleeping very well lately...clearly it's affecting my thinking."

"Nobody's perfect, Olivia." Peter said, staring out the window. "Not even me." he bantered, catching her eye with his crooked smile as he turned from the window.

Olivia tried to hold back a laugh, but it ended up coming out anyway, sounding halfway between a snort and a giggle. The image of him from that morning at his hotel when he'd answered her knock suddenly flashed in her mind. She found herself dwelling on it until her face began to grow hot. Her perfect memory could be both a blessing and a curse, and she wasn't sure which it was at that moment. Observing his profile covertly, Olivia felt her skin begin to tingle in anticipation, and then the realization at what she was doing hit her like a splash of cold water. She looked away, eyes wide, and exhaled a deep breath. _What the hell was that, Olivia? _She asked herself. _Don't even think about it._ Whatever had just happened, she was determined to not let it happen again.

Olivia felt Peter's curious gaze on her.

"You okay?" He asked offhandedly.

She cast a look his way. He had a deep furrow in his brow, evidently concerned at her demeanor. "Yeah." she replied smoothly, letting herself relax back into her seat. "We're almost there."

* * *

**Peter** looked around the campus as they made their across it to the building they were told Dr. Penrose was holding class in that day. Boston College was one place in the city he'd never really spent much time at. It seemed nice, no MIT or Harvard, but still nice enough. They always had a good hockey team at least, which was more than he could say for the former or the latter.

He followed Olivia as she wove her way through a crowd of undergrads exiting a brick three-story building, up the stairs at the entrance and inside. Penrose's classroom was on the second floor and had just ended, as students were filing out the door as they arrived. Peter couldn't believe how young some of the students looked, he grimaced, suddenly feeling older than his age. Olivia waited until that last student had left the room before stalking in like she owned the place.

"Dr. Penrose?"

A balding man, probably in his sixties, looked up from where he was putting his belongings into a personal bag. What was left of the hair on his head was gray, as well as his beard. Peter noticed with a small smile that he had indeed suffered from razor burn one point in his life, judging by the pocked skin on his cheek and neck.

"Yes?" He said, giving them both a one over with inquiring eyes.

Olivia pulled out her ID. "Olivia Dunham, FBI." She announced, holding it up for him to inspect.

Peter saw a slight tightening in his eyes as they ran over the FBI insignia printed on Olivia's identification. His eyes had large bags under them, giving him the appearance of a man who was on the edge of exhaustion. Not that it necessarily meant anything, some people were just cursed with having baggy eyes.

"How can I help you?" He asked finally, his countenance turning dour. He had a hint of an accent that Peter recognized as Germanic.

"This is Peter Bishop," Olivia said, inclining her head in his direction. "We'd like to ask you a few questions." She said it in a way that while not authoritative, made it clear it definitely wasn't optional.

Peter noticed the man's eyes dart to his face at the mention of his last name, but he made no comment on it.

"Do either of you drink tea?" he asked unenthusiastically, looking between them. He held a large thermos in one hand.

"We're fine." Olivia answered for both of them. "Is there a place where we can talk in private?"

"Of course. My office is not far." Dr. Penrose replied with a thin smile. "This way." he said, leading them out of the classroom and down the corridor to a small office with a window facing the campus quad. He took a seat behind the desk, and indicated for them to take the seats in front of it. Peter opted to stand, taking a look at the book filled shelves lining the walls. He was familiar with some of the subjects, but others were far afield from his expertise.

"Now what can I do for you?" the other man asked. His hands were crossed as he leaned forward in interest.

Olivia opened her file and pulled out the photo of the old man-baby. She slid it across the desk for Penrose to see. "This picture was taken only hours after the body you see there was born." she said without preamble.

Dr. Penrose stared at the photo, his face stoic. After a few moments, he looked up, his eyes flicked to Peter then back to Olivia. He swallowed visibly, emotions dancing across his face as he looked back down at the picture. "Where is the mother?" His voice had a controlled tone to it, which caught Peter's attention immediately.

"She died during childbirth." Olivia informed him evenly. "When she was admitted, she claimed she wasn't even pregnant. You worked with Dr. Walter Bishop, manipulating growth hormones during the Vietnam War."

"Yes...I did." he admitted reluctantly, clearly not liking the topic. "So, what can I do for you?" he asked again.

"In the years since, have you ever shared your work with anyone?" she asked. Peter could see her weighing every look that crossed the doctor's face.

He shook his head slowly. "No, I never have."

"Has anyone ever approached you to do so?"

"No." he answered, shaking his head again. "I must tell you both, my work, with Dr. Bishop was..." he trailed off uncomfortably.

"Highly theoretical?" Peter supplied for him.

Dr. Penrose turned to him. "Yes it was, but I was going to say that, more than anything, it was wrong." He said it with conviction. "I resigned from the employ of the United States Government after only one year. When I refused to continue, I was harassed. Threatened... with deportation." he looked down at his hands, there was a tremor in his voice as he spoke. "It...didn't feel like the America I remembered, from when I was a boy. Which is why...as sorry as I was to hear about Dr. Bishop's incarceration, I believe it was the best thing that could ever happen to humanity." he said, staring directly at Peter. "No one in power should ever learn what he knows."

Peter gave him a hard look. _What the hell is that supposed to mean?_ He exchanged a look with Olivia. She had sympathetic look on her face and shook her head almost imperceptibly. There was no need for it though, he wasn't about to make a scene.

Dr. Penrose brought his attention back to Olivia, giving her an ill at ease look. "Forgive me for sounding uncooperative Agent Dunham, but...my work to which you are referring ended years ago. Since then, I've done all I can to forget it." he said leaning forward on his elbow. "Is there anything else?"

Olivia scrutinized his face before replying. "No, that's all for now. We'll let you know if we need anything else." She stood, shaking the doctor's hand. "Thank you for you cooperation." Gathering Peter with a look, she lead him to the door.

Peter threw a look back into the office has he left the room. Dr. Penrose was standing at his desk watching them go, one hand reaching for his desk phone as he left his sight. Trailing behind Olivia, his thoughts were racing at what he'd said about his father. It hadn't been a pretty picture he'd painted. But in a way, he realized, it had also served as a distraction, deflecting them from asking further questions about his work. Peter thought he smelled a con.

As they left the building, Olivia looked back over her shoulder at him. "So, what do you think?" she asked mildly.

"About what? What he said about my father, or his lack of interest in the old man-baby?" Peter replied, his voice unintentionally brusque.

"Not about your father." she said with a half-smile.

"I think you know what I think." he said, taking the steps down to the sidewalk two at a time.

"Well, he meant what he said." Olivia stated as they walked the short distance to her SUV. "About wanting to forget about his work."

"Maybe he did, and maybe he does," Peter said, pulling open the passenger side door. "but he's not telling us everything." He was confident of that.

She gave him a ruminative look. "What makes you say that?"

"Just a feeling." he admitted over the hood of her car. "Like he brought up my father as a diversion." Sensing that she wanted him to elaborate, he continued. "It's one of the oldest tricks in the book. You lead the questioner to a subject that's parallel but not directly related. That way you seem to answer their questions without actually doing so."

"I see." Olivia said, opening her door and getting in.

Peter thought her response was a bit off. He smelled another con. Sliding into his seat, he pulled the door shut and gave her a look. "You already knew all that didn't you?" he said, nodding at his own question.

"Of course." she replied innocently. Her signature mona lisa smile was on her lips.

"So that was a test? You were testing me?" he asked, surprised at her sneakiness. Not that he should be surprised. He'd already figured out that she was more than a match for him. The woman jumped off buildings as a hobby.

Olivia turned to face him fully. Though the gravity well that was her open shirt tried to pull his eyes downward, he didn't let it, not even for an instant.

"Peter, if I'm going to bring you out in the field with me," she said simply. "I have to know that you're competent, not just a...a..." She struggled to find the words she wanted, probably not wanting to offend him.

"A useless sidekick?" he finished for her.

Her green eyes flashed. "Exactly." Starting the engine, she pulled them out of the Boston College campus and back towards the highway.

"So how'd I do?" Peter asked after a little while, unable to bear not knowing any longer.

Olivia cast a look his way. "You'll be fine." she said, after a moment had passed.

"Just fine?" _That's all I get? What does it take to impress her?_

"Yep." She threw him another look. "As long as you follow my lead." He caught the grin on her face as she looked away.

"Now you're just fucking with me." he said with a laugh. So she did have a sense of humor buried in all that composure.

"Maybe."

The ringing of her cell phone prevented either of them from saying more. She answered it immediately, all traced of humor gone from her face.

"Dunham."

She listened to the voice on the other end for a moment.

"Yeah, can you get the body brought to the lab?" Olivia asked, her tone eager.

She ended the call and glanced at him. "That was Charlie. Dudbury Police has a female victim. Surgical incision along her upper gum line. The central endocrine gland was removed." she said in a businesslike tone. "Looks like you were right." she added as an afterthought.

"Wonderful." Peter said, more to himself than to her. More dead bodies, at least Walter would be happy.

.

.

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**There will probably be 2 more chapters for 1x02. Thanks for reading. :-)**


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**.**

**-Cambridge, Boston**

**Olivia **glanced over at Peter in the passenger seat of her SUV. He'd been rather subdued since she'd received the phone call from Charlie. She had noticed that he'd been a bit squeamish around the dead bodies at the hospital that morning, and maybe he wasn't thrilled with the prospect of seeing three corpses in one day. The pregnant woman and the old man-baby corpses had not broken him in gently. Her first time had been a suspect, shot in the head on a raid. What she remembered most was the glazed eyes and the river of blood coming from underneath his mop of hair. As sad as it was to say, she'd gotten used to death, and she was sure Peter would too, eventually. He was adaptable, if anything.

Looking at the clock on her dash, she saw that it was almost noon. It had been a busy day, but now they had some time to kill, waiting for the new body to be transferred to the lab.

"Hey, you hungry?" she asked, breaking the silence.

Peter gave her an appraising look. "As a matter of fact I am. What do you feel like?" he asked, perking up at the mention of food.

Olivia wasn't too particular. "You pick." She said, curious to see what kind of food Peter Bishop ate. He was well-traveled, and she suspected he would not settle for something mundane. "As long as it's not fast food." she added as an afterthought.

"Really? Excellent!" he said gleefully. Peter leaned back and rubbed at his scruff in thought for a moment, before looking at her sideways. "You trust me?"

Did she trust him? Olivia shot him a look, trying to gage the seriousness of the question. He looked as sincere as ever. "Yeah." She acknowledged. "You wouldn't be with me right now if I didn't." A true statement on multiple levels if there ever was one.

"Excellent." He repeated, his head nodding in anticipation. "Then you're in for a treat." he promised, rubbing his hands together.

"This better be good, Peter." she said blandly. "Or you won't be picking again."

He laughed, leaning away and giving her a look. "Oh, is that how it is?

Olivia smiled. "Yep. That's how it is."

"Alright," Peter said confidently. "You're on Dunham." He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "You ever eat Indian?" There was a hopeful expression on his face.

Olivia loved Indian cuisine. Unfortunately, she'd always had to forcefully drag Charlie to get it, usually with much complaining. And John, he had refused to eat it altogether. "Northern or Southern?" she asked deliberately. In truth, she loved both, but preferred the higher spiciness of the southern cooking. It was a pleasant surprise to learn that Peter seemed to like it as well.

Peter's eyes grew wide at her response. "Seriously? That's fantastic." He had a wide grin on his face. "You're gonna love this place, Olivia."

"If you say so." she said, letting doubt fill her voice, secretly enjoying their repartee. Though she loved Charlie to death, he tended to be all business when they were out on a case together. Coupled with her own admittedly bland demeanor, the combination made for some boring car rides. That was one thing John had been good for, he'd always had something to say, much like Peter did when he was in a good mood. Hopefully that was where the similarities between the two of them ended."So where is this place?" Olivia asked, keeping her mask of skepticism in place.

"It's actually on the way…sort of." he replied, his tone light. "Now when we get there, I'm gonna be honest, the place looks like crap. But don't let that fool you, it's best Indian I've had outside of India."

Sort of, turned out to be a ten minute backtrack from where they were, but Olivia didn't mind. She estimated they had least a half an hour before the body would be at the lab. And he was right, the place did indeed look bad. It was a squat little structure sandwiched between a laundromat and an adult film and toy shop. There was a dirty vertical sign that read _Punjab_, and a partially lit neon sign in the single window set into the badly flaking painted white brick exterior, flashing _Buffet _at random intervals.

Olivia met Peter's eyes, the dubious look on her face real this time. "This place?" Olivia said uncertainly, opening her door and stepping out onto the curb. She'd never noticed it here before.

"Trust me." he said, motioning for her to join him as he made his way to the entrance.

She followed him inside, the signature smells of curry and cumin assaulting her senses immediately. The interior was dimly lit, the layout like that of a wide hallway, with the tables lining the walls and a single walkway down the middle. At the back was the doorway to what had to be the kitchen and a small buffet line set against one wall. The place was surprisingly crowded, with most of the tables already occupied. No one even looked in their direction at their entrance.

Peter met the server at the greeting station, holding up two fingers and the man's question of how many. After he showed them their table, she tossed her things into an empty chair and followed Peter to the buffet line.

As he picked up his plate, he glanced at her over his shoulder. "Make sure you try the _saag paneer_." He moved away from her, filling his plate with a gigantic portion that made her eyes pop. Apparently he really was hungry.

Olivia took his advice, making sure to grab some _naan_ before making her way back to the table. Sitting down across from him, she took her first bite, and knew instantly that she would be coming back here again. "Oh my god!" she said around a mouthful of spinach and cheese.

There was a toothy grin on Peter's face at her reaction. "It's good, right?" he replied, taking a large bite of his own.

She nodded in response, unwilling to sacrifice the time to talk. He was right, this place was significantly better than the place she normally went to in Brighton. After a few more mouthfuls, she forced herself to slow down, not wanting to over eat. "How did you find this place?"

"Believe it or not, I used to bus tables here when I was fourteen." he admitted, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin.

The server appeared, wanting to refill their waters, after which Peter stopped him with a question. "Rajan ko meri taraf sey namastey kehna? Meraa naam Peter Bishop hai."

The man blinked in surprise at the question, but nodded and hurried through the door into the kitchen.

"You can speak Hindi?" Olivia asked, impressed at this development. She couldn't think of a single person she knew that did, that wasn't an Indian.

"A little, enough to get by." he said modestly, looking down at his plate.

Olivia could tell he was trying to downplay it; maybe he didn't want her to think he was trying to show off or something foolish like that. She thought it was something to be proud of. "What did you say to him?"

"I told him to tell the owner, Rajan, that Peter Bishop said hello." He swallowed down a bit then continued. "I used to come here with my mother after Walter got put away, and I guess he took a liking to me."

She leaned on her hands, trying to picture a young Peter cleaning up tables, wearing an apron. The image didn't really fit with the man sitting across from her. When had he become the man she'd met in Iraq, whose first instinct had been to refuse a woman begging him for help? That man had seemed to disappear shortly after arriving back in Boston. Could he turn it off and on like a light switch?

"When were you in India?" she questioned him as they ate. Too much about him was a big question mark, and she was curious to know more. He had mentioned his mother, but she didn't think they knew each other well enough for her to go there yet.

"After I left the States, it was the first place I went." Peter said reflectively after a moment. "I spent six months backpacking from Dehli to Mumbai."

"How old were you?" Olivia was still trying to get a clearer image of who he was. She suspected this was only the tip of the iceberg with his travels.

"I was eighteen when I left. I spent my nineteenth birthday huddling inside a bus stop from a monsoon outside of Rajpur." He shook his head and looked at her ruminatively. "I haven't thought of that in years." he said thoughtfully, looking upwards at the ceiling.

Pushing his plate away, Peter stood, glancing down at her. "I'll be right back."

Her eyes followed him as he moved towards the buffet line for seconds. How he could get more after the massive portion he'd already eaten was beyond her. The kitchen door suddenly swung open and an older man, thin with white hair stepped out. He spotted Peter immediately, and went over to greet him. Olivia thought that this must be the Rajan he'd mentioned.

The two faced each other and Peter, hands pressed together in front of him, bowed slightly in the older man's direction as if he'd been doing it his whole life.

He was like a chameleon, she realized, blending into whatever background or situation required of him. Was he doing it now with her, and Fringe Division? _Would the real Peter Bishop please stand up?_ The lyrics popped into her head unexpectedly. He was a nomad, was his father really enough to hold him here? She didn't know, and decided she couldn't let herself think that way; she would trust him to stay until he gave her reason not to. Still, Olivia couldn't imagine doing anything like the things he had done, dropping everything and just leaving on a whim. She had been on a set trajectory since she was nine years old, leading directly to where she was now.

The older man seemed delighted at Peter's gesture and returned the greeting. Then he pulled him into a quick hug, whispering something in his ear, to which Peter responded with a smile and a nod. Stepping back Rajan said something else, which caused Peter's lips to form a thin line as shook his head in response. There was a moment of what looked like uncomfortable silence between them, until Peter looked her way, and guided the older man to their table.

Olivia stood as they approached, and Peter introduced her.

"Rajan, this is Olivia." He gestured vaguely in her direction. "We work together." He added quickly, obviously not wanting to give the wrong impression about their relationship.

"Ahh." The old man murmured. He gave her a bow in the same fashion as he'd given Peter, though it seemed to be a bit lower, which made the younger Bishop roll his eyes.

Olivia did her best to emulate the greeting, and Rajan gave her a fatherly smile.

"It is very good to meet you." His speech was heavily accented, and there was an undulating quality to his voice that fit him like a glove. "Be careful with this one," he warned in a friendly manner. "The last time he was here, he was in the company of another beautiful girl." He said with a sly wink in her direction.

"Is that so?" she cocked an eyebrow in Peter's direction. He had a pained look on his face, and was rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. It was interesting to see his reaction to his old friend's ribbing.

"Now what do you do young woman?" Rajan asked her shrewdly. She got the sense that he was sizing her up. "Are you keeping my young friend out of trouble?"

"I work for the Federal Government." Olivia answered, seeing a relieved look on Peter's face at the change of topic. "He's done a good job keeping himself out of trouble so far."

Rajan's eyebrows almost reached his a hairline at her reply. "Very commendable of you." he said, nodding his head in approval. "Well I will not keep you from your business. Stop by again sometime, young man." He gave Peter a nod, and moved away from them towards the kitchen. They both watched him until he disappeared through the door.

"Well, that was interesting." Peter mused, taking out his wallet and throwing some bills on table.

"You don't need to pay for me." Olivia asserted, pulling out her money. She hoped he wasn't going to get all chivalrous on her. John had always wanted to pay for her, and it had annoyed her to no end.

"I know I don't. My choice, my treat." He grabbed his things off the table. "You can pay next time." Pulling on his coat, he started for the exit.

Staring after him, Olivia put her billfold away and grabbed her coat, following him out the door to her SUV. Their eyes met over the hood, and she found herself biting her lower lip, attempting to hold back a laugh.

"Don't even say it." Peter threatened, giving her a dark look. His face had a distinct red tint to it.

Interesting, those were the very words she had said to him that morning. Maybe she could give him a little payback. "Did you really bring your girlfriends to that place?" Olivia asked, scratching her head in befuddlement. The food may have been good, but it would not be high on her list of places to go, at least for a romantic outing.

"Hey, it was one girl, and I was like...seventeen at the time." He was rubbing his neck again; she noticed that he tended to that when he was nervous or uncomfortable.

"And how'd that turn out for you?" she pressed, unable to resist tormenting him a little more.

"Not so good." he admitted reluctantly. "Turned out she hated Indian. At least it was free though, which if I remember correctly, was why I took her there."

"Well, that makes it all better." Olivia smirked, getting into the car. She could see Peter giving her a disgruntled look through the windshield. "You coming?" she called pleasantly out the open door to him.

* * *

**Peter** watched as the Agent Dunham persona slid firmly back into place. Her jovial mood had lasted until the moment her cell phone rang, reminding them both that they were not just friends going out to lunch. Not that it had ever slipped his mind. He was trying hard to see her as a colleague and maybe a friend, and not someone he was extremely attracted to. Watching her facial expressions as she ate her lunch had been a delicious kind of torture, and had pushed his tolerance levels to the limit. Now it was back to the world of old man-babies and his father's strange connectedness to it all.

"Thanks Astrid." Olivia said, putting her phone down.

"What was that about?" he asked, not missing the eagerness in her voice.

"The body from Dudbury is at the lab." She glanced his way before turning her eyes back to road. "Your father's already started on the autopsy."

"Did she say if he's discovered anything yet?" Maybe Walter would be done by the time they got back, and he wouldn't have to watch, or worse, help him.

Olivia shook her head. "Maybe, all she said was that he had news for us."

There wasn't much talking after that. Olivia seemed content with just driving in silence, which was fine with him. It had been strange to see his old friend again. There had been an awkward moment when he'd asked how his mother was doing, but Peter couldn't blame him. There was no way he could have known what happened. He hadn't kept in touch after he'd left the first time. It figured that he would bring up the one time he'd brought Tess there. He felt a smile form, thinking about that day. She had _really_ hated it, and had let him know it in front of the whole restaurant.

Peter could sense Olivia glancing at his smile curiously, but he'd already embarrassed himself enough for one day, so he didn't acknowledge the look. Besides, the sharing of information should go both ways. He still hardly knew anything about her.

Before he knew it they were back at Harvard, and he was following her through the doors into the lab. His father was bent over a gurney, shining a pen light into the eyes of a woman's corpse. He looked up as they entered, looking at them through bespectacled eyes. Clicking the light off, he stepped away, removing the glasses and setting them on counter top.

"Astrid called." Olivia said, moving over to the body and staring down at it. "She said you have news?"

Peter stepped up next to her, arms crossed and looked over the woman's corpse uneasily. The body was draped in a cloth, leaving only her head exposed. Her face was heavily bruised, with mottled dark purple and red skin around the mouth and eyes. _Why do they always have to look so…dead?_ He thought, feeling some queasiness in his stomach. Maybe the Indian had been a bad idea.

"You're right, I do news." Walter turned to them, pulling off the pair of latex gloves he was wearing. "The woman's pituitary gland has indeed been removed, and I may be able to posit a hypothesis as to why it has been." He stopped, appearing reluctant to continue, staring at them worriedly.

"And that is?" Peter asked impatiently.

"Years ago," He started, wringing his hands nervously. "when I worked with the Defense Department, we were tasked with a program designed to cultivate soldiers."

Peter met Olivia's wide eyed glance.

"Cultivate?" she asked hesitantly.

Walter nodded. "Yes, quite literally, grow them. It was highly theoretical, of course. Female eggs were to be fertilized in a lab and given a cocktail of growth hormones. If perfected, a baby was born and within three years aged to the equivalent of a 21-year-old male. A soldier in prime condition." He finished apprehensively, his eyes downcast, looking everywhere but at them.

"What?" Olivia gasped in disbelief, running her hands through her hair. She paced away from them, her head shaking slowly at the revelation.

"Let me get this straight." Peter said, feeling extremely disturbed at what he was hearing. "You're telling me, that you figured out a way to grow soldiers…to grow people?" This was unbelievable. What kind of monster was his father?

"Theoretically." Walter replied casually. He leaned back against a lab table, his earlier discomfort at the situation forgotten. "The only problem was how to slow the aging process once the subject had reached the desired physical age. Once started, we couldn't turn the aging off."

"I thought you said it was theoretical." Peter stated flatly. "Did you actually do this?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Before his father could respond, Olivia spun back to them. "Peter, as demented as I find this, it's not relevant to the matter at hand."

"That's easy for you to say," he countered irritably. "it's not your father turning people into a cash crop."

Her eyes flashed at the mention of her father, but she ignored him, keeping her focus on Walter. "So you think what, Walter? That the killer somehow continued your work?"

"Not exactly." Walter replied, rubbing his chin in contemplation. "But I believe that someone has made a breakthrough, of which our killer is the product." He stepped closer to them, his hands bobbing in front of him as he spoke. "A test tube human afflicted with rapid aging. To slow the process, he must extract the hormones from the pituitary glands of his victims to treat himself, to stay young, so to speak."

Peter supposed that it made some sense, though part of brain was telling him that this couldn't possibly be fucking real, and that his father was insane to even suggest it. There was moment of silence as they considered Walter's words.

"So the pregnant woman at the hospital…" Olivia began slowly, a worried expression appearing on her face.

"She was just an accident." Peter declared, inspiration hitting him. "And the killer's condition was passed on to the baby."

Walter nodded in agreement. "Even condoms are not one hundred percent effective." He said absently, wiping his hands on a cloth. "You two should be aware of this." He added to Peter's horror, motioning between him and Olivia.

Peter quickly looked away from her, his chin dropping to his chest as he shook his head slowly, feeling the urge to wrap his fingers around his father's throat at that moment. Looking up again, he saw Olivia staring stiffly at Walter, but she made no comment on his remark, much to Peter's relief.

"That night," Walter continued obliviously, "he was going to kill her, but first they fornicated. They had intercourse, sex-." He looked between Peter and Olivia, as if making sure they understood.

"We get it, Walter." Peter broke in testily, not wanting to hear anything else from his father on that subject.

His father continued as if he hadn't spoken. "She became pregnant as a result…but the pregnancy became horribly accelerated."

"So someone at the hotel must have heard her screaming." Olivia said, looking at Peter while she worked through it. "And he couldn't go through with his plan. He couldn't kill her." Her face went pale as a new thought struck her, and then her voice was filled with dismay. "Charlie said this body was found at warehouse. He didn't kill this girl at a motel, because he was scared. And if his M.O. has changed, then…we have nothing. We have to go back and start again from the beginning." She threw her hands up futilely, frustration written clearly across her face as she turned away from them.

"No, this okay, Olivia." Peter said optimistically. He put his hands out, trying to placate her. "We're making some progress-"

"Okay?" There was an incredulous look on her face. "Why don't you tell her that everything's gonna be okay, Peter!" she snapped, pointing down at the dead woman in front of her.

She brushed past him, taking the steps towards the exit.

"Olivia…" Peter called after her, trailing off as she slammed the door hard behind her. Having never seen her upset like that before, he considered going after her. She'd seemed so unflappable since he had met her, that it was easy to forget that she was only human. After a few moments of indecision, he decided to let her cool off for a while.

"I thought you had a way with women." he heard Walter say critically from behind him.

"Don't start with me, Walter!" he spun around, holding his hands out like shields to ward him off. "What the hell was that about condoms and me and Olivia? Why would you say that?"

"I was just saying-"

"I know what you were doing." Peter interrupted. This fascination Walter had with him and Olivia had to end, before it started making things awkward between them. "Look, whatever ideas you have about us in that insane head of yours, it needs to stop now."

"So I was mistaken then?" Walter replied over his shoulder, walking back towards the office. "You don't have feelings for her?"

"Walter, I've known her less than two weeks." He wasn't about to admit to anything, and least of all to his father.

"What does that matter?" his father retorted, scoffing at the notion. "I knew your mother was the woman for me the day I met her."

"That's…just great." Peter said bleakly. The last thing he wanted to hear about was his parent's courtship. It hopeless anyways, any agreement he got out of him would hold until he was out of his father's eyesight. "Where's Astrid?" he asked, following him into the office. "You didn't send her to buy you more candy did you?"

Walter looked up from the box on Olivia's desk he was searching through. "She was hungry, and offered to get us lunch." he answered defensively. "She should be back soon. Did you eat already, son? You shouldn't fall behind on your caloric intake, you know."

Exhaling with a sigh, Peter felt his irritation deflate slightly at the concern in his father's voice. "We stopped for a bite on the way back here." He leaned against the door frame, watching as Walter opened another box and started sifting through the contents. "What are you looking for anyway?"

"I was hoping to find some of my old books in one of these." His father flipped that flaps on the box shut before turning to another, and rummaging through it as well.

As it became clear that the books weren't there, his motions began to turn increasingly frantic. Twirling away from the boxes, he rushed out into the lab, throwing cabinet doors open one after another as he went down the rows of casework in a futile attempt to find the missing books. Peter followed behind him, closing each door as he went. When the supply of cabinets to look in ran out, Walter looked around obsessively, trying to locate other possible hiding spots to search.

"Walter, stop it." He moved in front of his father, trying to draw his eyes from their roving quest around the lab. After spending the last week or so with his father, he learned that usually interrupting his thought process would be enough to bring him out of whatever compulsion he was under at the time.

Walter's eyes locked on his and he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, lucidity returning to his features. "Thank you, son." he said, his posture finally relaxing. He turned and walked over to the gurney with dead woman's corpse, staring down at her silently.

"What books were you looking for?" Peter asked as he crossed the room to his father's side.

There was no response, just the slight shake of his father's head as he appeared to be deep in thought. After a minute or two of this, he looked up. "Yes. Yes. Yes!" he said as if he'd had a revelation, emphasizing with his pointer finger in Peter's direction.

"What's on your mind, Walter?" Peter coaxed, trying to draw his father out of his musings.

Walter frowned, "Please. The term 'on your mind', it vexes me with its depictive inaccuracy. Thoughts are no more on top of-"

"Stop." Peter cut in, his eyes rolling involuntarily. "Would you just talk like a person? What are you thinking?" he asked slowly, emphasizing each word.

"Jules Verne."

"As in _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_, Jules Verne?" That explained the book search at least, though not the relevance.

"Yes, Although I was referring to his lesser known masterwork, _The Kip Brothers_. In this book he posited that the last image seen in life, right at the moment of death, is permanently imprinted on the retina of the eye." He stretched an eyelid of the corpse open again, shining his light and stared intently into it.

Peter crossed his arms skeptically at what his father was suggesting. "That's also work of fiction Walter, which is a small, but critical distinction."

Walter turned sad eyes on him. "When was it you lost your imagination, son?"

Despite the condescending words from his father, Peter held onto his temper. Another argument would not help the situation. "Alright, you want to play? Let's play."

What are the images the eyes see at the most basic level? And how would one go about capturing them? It wasn't something he'd ever really spent much time thinking about. He rubbed his chin as his thoughts organized themselves into a semblance of something rational. "I guess...the only way that we can see what she saw, even in theory, is if we could...somehow recover the electric impulses that were traveling along her optic nerve, which we can't; she's dead."

"Ah, but we're in luck." Walter rested his hands on the woman's shoulders. "This woman was given a muscle relaxant. The drug would have frozen her neural pathways at the moment of death and the last images she saw with it."

"Okay," Peter said, trying to follow his fathers line of thinking. "assuming we're actually having this conversation, we would still need a... well, I don't know what. We would need something that could translate what she saw-"

"Something that could translate from her eyes to a monitor, or a tv screen." Walter finished for him, hands pointing at the woman's head then to a computer monitor on a table behind him.

Peter stared at the screen, then back to the dead woman. "I'm not sure something like that exists Walter, but I'll see if I can find anything."

Stepping over to Astrid's computer, he started doing searches on subjects that seemed relevant. Surprisingly, it only took a few searches before he came across an article on frivolous patents, that lead him to a search of the U.S. Patent Office database. He shook his head, somehow not surprised at the patent holder of the device they were looking for. Lucky for them, Olivia was friendly with the CEO. He hit the print button.

* * *

**Olivia** watched from her bench as a father and son prepared to release a radio controlled sailboat into the small lake in Harvard Yard. It had turned out to be a rather warm day, as far winter's in Boston go, only light jackets required. The boy watched in admiration as his father knelt over the little boat, making small adjustments to the sails before setting it gently in to the water. He pushed it slowly away from the shore, and handed the boy the remote control and pulling him into his lap to show him the ropes. She smiled at the sight, wishing not for the first time that she could remember her real father.

She felt bad about how she'd left the lab. Peter hadn't been trying to make light of the situation, she knew that. And how was he to know that her father was not a good subject to bring up, under any circumstances. It was just that the realization that everything they knew added up to nothing had been so disheartening. They had been so close. Thinking about her options, she thought maybe paying Dr. Penrose another visit might be fruitful. She agreed with Peter, he'd known more than he told them. The problem was that whatever he was holding back, it didn't necessarily have to have anything to do with their killer.

Rubbing her eyes, Olivia rested her head on her palms. It didn't help that she was utterly exhausted, and it was barely past noon. Forcing her eyes open wide, she spied Peter walking towards her down the narrow walking path which circled the lake.

He gave her a little nod as he noticed her watching him. She observed a folded sheet of paper in his right hand as he approached. Coming to a stop in front of her, she could see no recrimination in his eyes as he stared down at her. Olivia patted the bench next to her, hoping he would sit so they could talk.

Without speaking, he sat down next to her, and they watched the father and son with the sailboat for a few minutes as she worked herself up to apologizing. As her sister could attest to, apologizing was something Olivia had always had a problem with.

Finally, she turned to him, rubbing her thighs nervously, and he glanced in her direction. "Peter, I'm sorry about the lab. I don't usually..." Unable to quite get the words out, she stared down at her hands.

"What?"

"Lose control like that." Olivia looked out over the lake, not wanting to see the look on his face at her confession. She sensed him shrug and felt him lean closer.

"To be honest, it was kind of a relief. You've been so together with everything that's going on, I've been starting to develop an inferiority complex."

She looked back at him at that, wanting to see if he was serious or not. He was closer than she expected him to be, and her eyes dropped momentarily from his eyes to his lips before she could stop them. Dragging them back up in a hurry, she waited for him to continue.

"Knowing that Walter's work is responsible for all those murders...I just want you to know that you're not alone here." His voice was so sincere, and Olivia wondered again how this could be the same man she'd met in Iraq. She had to look away as she felt wave of real affection for him starting to form unexpectedly.

A sudden touch on her hand caused her heart to skip a beat. Glancing down she saw his fingertips lightly touching her as he prepared to speak again. Her skin seemed to be on fire where his fingertips rested. Olivia didn't think Peter was even aware that he was touching her. She was having trouble concentrating on anything but his hand on hers, until he pulled away and his voice came back into focus.

"Listen," he was saying. "I can't believe that I'm about to propose this, but I think...we've actually figured out a way to track down that psycho."

As the meaning of his words registered, the strange fog she'd been surrounded in faded away as fast as it had come. "What? How?" she asked, putting herself back together again.

"Well, we need a piece of equipment. It's...laser optic hardware. Very crazy and very, very hard to find. But as it turns out, only one company has the patent." He handed her the piece of paper he'd been holding on to. "This is what we need."

Olivia didn't even need to open the paper to know she'd see Massive Dynamic's name on it. It seemed she would be paying Nina Sharp another visit. "What does it do?"

Peter laughed and got to his feet. "That, you're not gonna believe until you see it."

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**Thanks as always for reading. In case anyone was wondering, I don't plan on writing about every meal they ever have together. I just felt like there would have been a lot of firsts in this episode. If anyone who actually speaks Hindi wants to correct me, feel free. Hopefully there will only be one more chapter for 1x02. Leave me a review if you like it. They are very motivating. :-)**


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

.

**-Massive Dynamic, New York**

**Olivia** followed the same severe looking woman through tilted hallways of Massive Dynamic. They were in a different area of the building than she'd been in the last time she was here. The clinical whites were still in evidence on every surface, though the running advertisements were either not in place or had been turned off. Danielle, Olivia remembered that being her name, led her to a large, rectangular shaped waiting room with two quarter circle shaped sofas set in one end. The wall opposite the couches was comprised almost completely of a brightly lit screen, with shifting images of yellow tulips and then a rolling field of purple lavender flowers casting colored hues throughout the room.

Danielle stopped ahead of her, gesturing towards the seating. "Please have a seat, Agent Dunham. Can I get you anything? Coffee perhaps?"

Olivia smiled at the offer. "No thank you, I'm fine."

"Well, I'm sorry for the delay, Ms. Sharp will be right with you." The woman turned on her heels, leaving in the direction they had come.

Taking a seat on one of the sofas, Olivia leaned back, grateful to be off her feet. The plane ride from Boston was a blur; she must have passed out almost immediately upon taking her seat. It had only taken one quick call to Broyles to get him to arrange the loaning of the equipment Peter had requested with Nina Sharp.

Thinking of Peter, their moment on the bench in Harvard Yard surfaced again, and his absent touch of her hand. She could almost still feel it now, and she touched the spot gingerly without really thinking about it. Whatever had happened between them, Olivia could not afford to let it happen again. She'd already sworn to herself that nothing like that could _ever_ happen again, and over John Scott's traitorous corpse no less. This was the second time that day she'd found herself thinking about Peter in ways she shouldn't be. He hadn't even seemed aware of her reaction, had just gone on with the explanation of his and Walter's plan for seeing through a dead woman's eyes. Maybe he was over the crush she thought he'd had on her shortly after they'd met. For some reason the thought made her feel empty and alone, when she should have been glad for it. _God, I'm such a fucking mess, _she thought miserably, fighting back a yawn.

Olivia let herself settle deeper into the couch. She usually didn't care for the these types of contemporary furnishings and their uncomfortable shapes, but at that moment, it was the most comfortable sofa she'd ever sat on. Her head was beginning to feel like it was on a spring, and she caught herself starting to nod off several times. She opened her eyes wide, trying to force down her exhaustion. _I am exhausted, that's gotta be the explanation for Peter. _Her thoughts felt sluggish, and she let herself give in to the weariness for just a second.

She jerked up in her seat, her eyes racing around the room before coming to rest on Agent Broyles, seated across from her.

"When did you get here, sir?" Olivia glanced down at the watch on her left hand, trying to figure out how long she'd been asleep. She was utterly embarrassed at being caught asleep by her boss. The minute and hour hands were slowly moving backwards, the second hand stopped altogether. _What the hell?_ She rubbed her eyes and looked down again tapping at the glass face, and saw that all the hands were stopped on the twelve.

"You know,I have reservations about asking Massive Dynamic for a favor." Broyles said out of the blue, startling her. "The corporate mind always looks for a quid pro quo."

Olivia looked up from her broken watch, wondering why he hadn't answered her question. Why was he even here? Did he have other business with Nina Sharp? Nina had clearance, what did she know about Fringe Division and her team? Too many questions, and not nearly enough answers.

"Agent Broyles, do you mind if I ask you a question?" She crossed her hands in her lap, sitting up straight and dignified.

"Of course." he replied, nodding at her to go on.

"Before he died," Olivia hesitated, not wanting to appear to be making accusations. This was something that had bothered her for days though. "Agent Scott suggested that this was more than a coincidence that you recruited me for this assignment. Is that true?"

Broyles dark eyes narrowed as he focused on her, his expression like granite. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question, Agent Dunham? About yourself and and Agent Scott?"

Olivia looked away, not sure how to answer that. _Um, Yeah I do_ was the first thing that came to mind. But before she could respond he continued.

"The very last time you were...intimate...were you safe?" He leaned forward, elbows on his on his knees, watching her closely.

She felt her stomach heave at his question, feeling very strange all of a sudden. Something wasn't right, there was tightness at her waist, like her pants and shirt were too small. The pressure increased, she panted as it turned to pain, her hands clutched her stomach on their own volition.

"You weren't, were you?" Broyles guessed, nodding his head at her. There was a knowing smile on his face.

"Ahhhh!" Olivia gasped, looking down at her rapidly expanding waistline._ What the fuck is going on? _Her inner voice was shrieking. She could feel something moving inside her, under her hands! Her body seized, the constricting muscles forcing her rear off the cushion, arching her backwards as the pain grew to an excruciating level."Ahhhh!" she gasped again as the thing inside her began to push outwards, causing lumps to appear under her tightly stretched shirt.

"Were you...Agent Dunham?" Broyles asked again.

...

...

"Agent Dunham?"

Olivia jerked awake in her seat, her eyes hurtling around the room before coming to rest on Nina's secretary, Danielle, standing across from her. She grabbed at her stomach, eyes wide. It felt blessedly normal. There was no pain, no Broyles, it had all been a daydream, or more like a nightmare. Letting out a deep breath, she looked up the secretary.

"Agent Dunham? Ms. Sharp will see you now." She motioned for Olivia to follow her.

Olivia stood, heart still pounding in her chest, almost expecting to feel a ghost of the pain she remembered being in only moments ago. Brushing away a bead of sweat than ran down her cheek, she followed behind the other woman. That dream...that wasn't normal, it couldn't have been normal. Sleep was coming that night, even if it meant overdosing on sleeping pills.

Danielle stopped at a doorway ahead, indicating that Olivia should enter the conference room with one arm. Nina Sharp sat at a table inside, and she rose at Olivia's entrance.

"Agent Dunham. So good to see you again." Nina smiled, and took her hand in a firm grip, before letting go and falling back into her seat across from Olivia.

"Thank you. It's good to see you again." She replied politely, taking her seat.

Nina steepled her fingers, her arms resting on the table in front of her as they waited for the arrival of the equipment. "I hope your ride was comfortable. I'm not a big fan of airplanes myself. Despite the obvious intellectual understanding of their safety, my hand still gets sweaty on takeoff." She said perkily, wiggling the fingers of one hand.

"It was okay," Olivia admitted. "I think I slept most of the flight." She leaned forward in earnest, "Thank you again Ms. Sharp, for your cooperation, we're very-"

"No need to thank me." Nina waved her hand absently. She tilted her head, giving Olivia a pensive look. "You know I've been thinking of you...meaning to thank you for being a woman of your word, and keeping Massive Dynamic out of the press."

Olivia shrugged indifferently, slightly taken aback. She didn't remember agreeing to anything of the sort. It had just worked out that Richard Stieg had been acting alone, if it had turned out otherwise, she would have followed the lead wherever it went, Massive Dynamic or no. "Yes, I'm glad it worked out that way." she replied diplomatically after a moment.

An awkward silence descended on the room as the two women regarded each other across the table. A satisfied smile appeared on Nina's face, which Olivia met with a politely stoic gaze.

Nina was the first to break the tension, looking away with a thin smile. "I also wanted to give you my sincere condolences," She looked directly in Olivia's eyes. "on the loss of Agent Scott."

Although shocked at the unexpected inclusion of John in the conversation, she thought was able to keep her face from betraying her. "What do you know about Agent Scott?"

"I know that he was your partner." Nina replied, her eyes narrowed, massaging the wrist of her right arm. "I've lost people close to me. I know how hard that can be. Not to mention the rumor about what he was involved with. And, of course, the joy of being a female in a traditionally male line of work. No doubt some of your male colleagues are assuming that you two were intimate." She rolled her eyes and laughed, as if the idea were plainly ridiculous.

Olivia forced out a polite laugh as she studied the other woman. Was she fishing for a reaction with that last comment? Or maybe just letting Olivia know that she knew just how close her and John had been. She thought it might be the latter, unwilling to believe it had been an innocuous remark.

The door opened and a man carrying a square black case entered the room. He set it on the table in front of Nina, releasing the snaps and flipping the lid back. She lifted out a thin, gray cylindrical device, holding it up for Olivia's inspection. There was black cube attached to one end, and from the other end a thick cable or wire extended to a control box.

"Ah. The electronic pulse camera." She said with a flourish. "I must admit I was surprised when Phillip Broyles requested it. It has a rather limited range of practical uses, which is why William ultimately decided to never market it." There was a hint of question in her tone.

Rising from her seat, Olivia shook her head. "I can't really make any comments on an ongoing investigation. You understand."

"Of course not." Smiling, Nina set the camera back in its case. "Travel safely, Agent Dunham."

* * *

**Peter** looked up from the computer terminal he and Astrid were huddled over as Olivia entered the lab, struggling with a large black case and juggling a cup of coffee.

"Let me help you with that." he said, getting to his feet and meeting her at the top of the short flight of steps down into the lab.

"Thanks." Olivia smiled gratefully, letting him deal with her awkward burden. Stepping lightly down the staircase, she moved over to the corpse where Walter was preparing a tray of surgical tools for the procedure. "So how is this going to work?"

Walter looked up at the question. "Ah, Agent Dunham. When did you arrive?"

"Just now. I have the equipment you needed." She looked back at Peter, flashing him a smile. "Or Peter does."

Peter set the case down on the table next to Astrid, he flipped back the top, getting his first look at the device. "Looks like a cross between a mace and a cattle prod." He quipped, drawing a giggle from Astrid.

"Peter! Gene is right there!" Walter hissed, giving the two of them a pointed look. "She's very sensitive girl, you know."

Glancing in the cow's direction, he was about to respond with something witty, when he noticed the impatient look on Olivia's face and thought better of it. "The cow's fine." he said distantly, opening a folded print out that had been in the case.

It appeared to instructions for setting up the device. Peter gave them to Astrid, letting her go to work on setting up the software required on her workstation. He joined Olivia and his father at the gurney, where Walter had set up one of the surgical lights overhead. He was in the process of clamping the woman's eye lid open, exposing most of the sclera of her eye.

"So what's the plan here anyway, Walter?" The scene in front of him, while definitely not something he'd want to look at every day, wasn't really that bad. Maybe exposure to the man-baby had desensitized him. It kind of reminded him of that scene in _A Clockwork Orange_.

"I believe we're going to have to remove this poor woman's eye, at least partially." His father replied sadly, staring down at the woman. Surprisingly, the man actually seemed disturbed by the prospect of having to dissect someone, instead of excited for once.

_So much for it not being that bad_, Peter thought grimly. "Is that really necessary?" He'd seen Olivia draw back slightly at Walter's words, with a look of distaste that mirrored his own feelings on the matter.

Walter nodded his head slowly, his attention focused on making an adjustment to the clamp. "I'm afraid so. This should work better if the optic nerve is not compressed." He looked up at Peter, "I'll need your help, son." There was hint of anticipation in his voice.

Peter could feel Olivia's eyes on him as he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. With a sigh, he picked up a lab coat, one he'd thrown haphazardly over a stool in the aftermath of John Scott, and pulled it on.

"What do you need me to do?" he said, not missing the pleased look on Olivia's face out of the corner of his eye. He tried not to focus too much of the warm feeling it gave him.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Olivia asked suddenly, looking between him and Walter. "I'm feeling kinda useless here."

Looking her over, Peter thought she looked worn out. She'd already been to New York and back again today, on top of everything else. "You can just relax until we're…" he broke off as Olivia's face tightened noticeably. "Or not." He looked around the lab. "Well...somebody needs to assemble the cameras tripod. It's in the case."

"I think I can handle that." She had a self-satisfied look on her face as she passed him by and began pulling parts for the camera stand out of the case.

He hadn't been kidding earlier when he'd told her she was giving him an inferiority complex. Was it even possible for her to turn it off, even for five minutes? _Of course it isn't. You already knew that._ He wondered, and not for the first time, if she was just hardwired that way or if something had happened to her instill such overwhelming drive. If he'd had an even ounce of that...suffice to say his life would turned out much differently than it had.

"If you're done staring, Peter, I could use your help." Walter's voice came softly from behind him.

Peter blinked and looked around. Had he been staring? Olivia had the tripod almost completely constructed. _This is getting out of hand. _Thankfully, Walter made no further comment as he turned back to the corpse. "What do you need me to do Walter?"

"When I pull the eye out," his father made disturbing grabbing motion with one hand. "you'll need to sever the muscles surrounding the optic nerve." He handed him a scalpel, and picked up a surgical spoon off the tray he'd set up nearby. "Oh, but make sure you don't cut the optic nerve itself, or all this will have been for nothing, and we'll have to start over with the other eye."

Peter grunted in response. It sounded easy enough, on paper at least. "Alright, let's get this over with then."

"That's the spirit, my boy!" Walter exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder.

He bent over the body, spoon in hand, and gently forced it under the eye of the dead woman, and began applying leverage. There was a wet sort of tearing sound as it came free that made Peter grimace and look away in revulsion.

"Now, Peter."

Looking back, he saw Walter holding the eye cradled in the spoon, a thick vein of bloody flesh trailing through the slot in the spoon and back in to the gaping socket. He noticed that the woman had blue eyes, and felt his stomach heave as a slight odor of decay wafted across his nose. _Oh fuck. _It was much, much worse than he'd thought it would be. _So much for sleeping tonight...or ever again._

He could see the muscles Walter had referred to, strings of flesh gripping the back of the eye like tiny little fingers. Forcing his aversion to the side, he raised the scalpel and carefully sliced through the first of them. It fell away like a rubber band no longer under tension. Raising the scalpel again, his hand shook slightly as he went in for the kill.

"Careful...careful." Walter said softly, catching his eye with a steady gaze.

Peter swallowed and nodded, concentrating and forcing his hand to stillness. In quick succession, he cut through the remaining muscles, leaving only a yellowish colored vein in the middle. Letting out a deep breath, he stepped away from the table, dropping the scalpel back on the tray.

"Good work son, good work!" his father said as he maneuvered the eye on to a makeshift stand he'd constructed from beaker stands and clamps set to the side of the dead woman's head.

He turned around to find Olivia and Astrid watching both of them closely. He glanced between them both before letting his eyes rest on the blond agent.

"You okay?" There was a trace of concern in Olivia's tone.

Peter shrugged. "Yeah, it was just a little more...intense than I was expecting." He laughed a little as a thought struck him. "It's not what I expected to be doing when you woke me up this morning, I can tell you that."

Olivia nodded a smile, then looked away from him hurriedly and moved over to his father, but not before Peter caught a faint tint of red on her cheek as she passed by. Confused at her abrupt behavior, he looked at her back fixedly for a moment before catching Astrid's attention and looking at her questioningly.

She shrugged her shoulders in response to his unspoken query.

Peter had noticed that Olivia's moods were like quicksilver, going from happy, to stoic, to pissed off as hell in the blink of an eye, so he didn't make too much of it. He kind of liked her unpredictability. _Let's be honest,is there anything about her you don't like?_ A small voice in the back of his mind asked. He didn't bother answering himself.

"You have any problems with the software?" he glanced over at Astrid.

"Nope, it was a breeze. Massive Dynamic can afford good coders." she replied knowingly.

"What do you know about coding?" He found her comment intriguing. As of yet, he knew next to nothing about the junior agent. Computer programming was one area he knew didn't know too much about.

"I've dabbled a bit, computer science minor." She explained proudly, coming to stand beside him.

Peter looked down at the petite woman. "So I guess that makes you our resident computer nerd." He joked, unable to resist the opening she'd given him.

"You better watch yourself Peter." The look in Astrid's face was rigid with unamusement. "I _am_ a trained agent." Her tone was so unlike any he'd heard from her before, that he was about to start hastily apologizing when she broke into a wide smile. "I so had you." she breathed, a look of pity on her face as she shook her head in derision. Her dark curls bounced as she joined Olivia and Walter around the dead woman.

Feeling a bit like fool, he grabbed the pulse camera and its tripod, careful to make sure he didn't inadvertently pull out the long cable Astrid had plugged into her workstation. He set it in position at the end of the table where Walter had the eye waiting. When it was all set to go, Walter produced a box of what looked like old welding goggles, passing them around the group.

"Where did you get these, Walter?" Peter asked, holding his up and looking through darkened glass. All he could see were faint silhouettes of the lab around him.

"The pulse camera emits high intensity flashes of ultraviolet light, much like an arc welder." he said, ignoring the question as he placed them on his forehead. "Are we ready? Dear, the lights!" he gestured impatiently at Astrid. She hit the switch and the lab was blanketed in shadows, the only light source from the surgical light above the gurney. "Goggles, all of you. Do not look directly into the light." he warned, pulling his own down over his eyes.

They all followed suit, forming a semi-circle around the tripod. Walter grabbed the camera control box.

"Are we really going to be able to see her last image?" Astrid asked dubiously.

Walter gave her a fatherly smile. "Faith, young lady. It's never a bad thing to have." He rotated a dial on the controller, then flipped the toggle switch, initiating the process.

Peter could hear a faint hum, then a click and a bright flash illuminated the room through his goggles, leaving a purple afterimage staining his vision. There was another, then another and his vision was nothing but purple, forcing him to look away. The lab was visible through strobe like images, exposures overlapping on one another. He saw Olivia had turned away as well and joined her at a tv screen they'd set up which would be displaying any image the camera captured.

"Think this'll work?" She asked as he stepped up beside her. He didn't like not being able to see her eyes. It seemed like half of the communication between them was done through their eyes alone, sometimes. Without them he felt like he was stumbling around in the dark.

He traced the edge of his chin as he considered her question. "Honestly? I don't have the slightest idea." Seeing her frown at his response, he added, "But, we are talking about Massive Dynamic tech, so who knows right?" Olivia didn't seem too reassured, but he didn't know what else to tell her.

The monitor was displaying a white light in the center, with colors fanning irregularly around the edges. The image shifted as Walter manipulated the camera controls, like it was going in and out of focus.

"This has to work." Olivia said softly beside him, maybe to herself. It sounded kind of like a prayer, though he'd never got any religious vibes from her before.

Peter glanced over at the sound of her voice. She was chewing her lower lip absently, her head tilted forward watching the screen intently. The strobe effect going on in the lab made the image decadent in some way, and he turned away quickly, walking over to Walter at the camera.

"How long is this gonna take, Walter?" He crossed his arms as he watched his father operate the camera. "If the killers already taken another-"

Walter turned to him. "Impatient!" he said derisively. "You always were, Peter." There was a disapproving expression on his face.

"As if you _ever_ knew me well enough to make a statement like that, Walter." he scoffed, shaking his head in denial. The man had barely paid him any attention as a kid, and hadn't even been at the house the majority of the time.

"Huh. You're a smart boy, son." he said imperiously. "But there is much you don't know." He looked down and made some further adjustments to the camera.

"Did you see that?" Olivia suddenly said from behind him. Her voice was excited.

Peter spun around, just missing the image that had been on the screen. He thought it might have been a building or wall of some sort. Where those windows he'd seen? "What was that?" He pulled his goggles off for a better view, seeing that Olivia had already removed hers.

The image on the screen was flickering, the white light back, going in and out of focus. Suddenly he saw the building again, and it definitely was a building; he could clearly see rows of windows. Then it was gone a second later, followed by a blurry image of some angular structure, maybe a scaffolding, Peter couldn't be sure.

"Wait, wait, what was that?" Olivia was pointing at the screen where the strange structure had disappeared, only to be replaced by the white light again. "Can you focus it, Walter?" She looked at him desperately.

Walter removed his goggles, staring at the image intently. "It's not a slide projector, dear." he murmured as he worked the controller gently.

As he spoke the image Peter had seen earlier came back into focus, only this time it seemed smaller, farther away maybe? There was angled line extending from the bottom of the structure up to right corner of the screen. It looked familiar, reminded him of something he'd seen before, maybe many times. Once Walter was able to get the image to hold steady and it finally hit him.

"Astrid, can you flip the image over?"

"Yes, I can." She hit a several keys at her workstation, and the image turned upside down.

"It's a bridge!" Peter declared. It was suspension bridge to be more precise. He didn't recognize it immediately.

"I know that bridge." Astrid stated confidently, staring intently at her monitor, which also displayed the camera feed. "I used to live in Denton. That's…um…" She closed her eyes in thought. "That's Sargent Bridge. It's in Stoughton."

Peter hadn't ventured down to Stoughton too often, he thought it might be an industrial area if he remembered correctly. He exchanged a look with Olivia. "What's in Stoughton?"

Olivia pursed her lips thoughtfully, "It's a…warehouse district, I think." One hand waved vaguely as she spoke, leaning on a table. Her head pivoted towards Walter. "This would be one of the last images she saw?"

Walter nodded his head. "In theory, yes. Though I wouldn't make any wagers on how close to the moment of death we are actually seeing."

"It can't have been very long, Walter." Peter said, drawing Olivia's attention. "You said yourself that the only reason we can see anything at all is because of the muscle paralyzer." He gestured towards her with two fingers. "The paralyzer used was succinylcholine?"

Olivia nodded slowly. "Yes it was. Why?"

"Because succinylcholine has a very short duration of effect." Peter explained. "Unless the killer was using an IV, which he wasn't, a single dose doesn't last long, maybe only minutes."

"Very clever, son." Walter said approvingly after a moment of consideration. "The killer injected the woman with a single dose to the neck, so it is safe to say that these are indeed the last images she saw." He'd pulled a piece of licorice out of his lab coat pocket and it flapped back and forth in his hand as he spoke.

"Okay, so what where would she have to have been to see the bridge at that angle? Peter looked at Olivia. "Have any access to some cool FBI software?"

"FBI software? No." She shook her head and looked at him slyly. "I have something better. Astrid, pull up the NRO online image mapping database."

Peter followed her to Astrid's workstation, looking over the women's shoulders as the younger agent searched the database and quickly found an image of the bridge they were looking for.

"That's it. See if you can match the angles." Olivia said. The other woman complied and the image flipped and rotated on its axis. "Wait, stop there." She pointed at the screen. "That's it. Pull it out to aerial view and triangulate the location." The image zoomed out until they were looking down on the bridge and the surrounding area.

Peter watched the fierce expression on her face as she instructed the younger agent. Sometime from when she'd left for New York that morning and her return, she'd changed out of her suit and into her casuals with a dark colored jacket. He glanced down at the dirty lab coat he was decked out in.

"It looks like she was in this warehouse district." Astrid indicated as the image program highlighted the approximate viewing angles. "The sixteen hundred block of Bond Street."

"I want satellite images of that area for the last twenty-fours." Olivia ordered, straightening up and looking over Astrid's shoulder.

Peter had to step back quickly as she suddenly spun around, nearly colliding with him in her haste. Her eyes widened at their near miss.

"Sorry." she muttered, looking for a way around him, eyes already on her target, another computer that had been set up on the a table nearby.

"My fault." He moved out of her way, removing his grimy lab coat in the process and tossing it away. The strobing pulse camera forced him to turn his head to the side as he turned to follow her. "Walter, will you turn that thing off?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, son." Walter said, smiling apologetically. "The flickering lights reminded me of my disco days...You know, your mother and I used to really cut a rug." He did a few steps of the hustle in the middle of the lab, over to the camera and shut it down.

Peter noticed Olivia's head swivel in their direction, catching his eye momentarily before returning to her task. Deciding that now wasn't the time to get into it with his father, he let the subject drop. He moved over to stand behind her, watching as she scanned through the satellite imagery.

"You see anything, Agent Farnsworth?" Olivia called over to her colleague, keeping her eyes on her screen.

"Um...I've got a street sweeper on the access road at 8:05 PM." she answered.

"I got nothing between 6:00 and 7:45 PM." Olivia announced with a shake of her head.

Walter shuffled over and stood next to him, arms crossed and goggles perched on his forehead, peering back and forth between Astrid's and Olivia's monitors. "What are we looking for, exactly?"

Peter waved his hand at Olivia's screen and nodded back at the corpse. "She died in one of those buildings."

Olivia suddenly leaned in close to her screen, "I've got a gray sedan parked outside Unit Seventeen at 8:05 AM." She looked over at Astrid, waiting for her response.

"I've got the same vehicle eight hours later."

"That's the estimated time of death of the last victim." Peter recalled, glancing back and forth between the women.

Olivia stood and grabbed her keys off the table beside her in one motion. "If you can get anything more specific, call me." She started swiftly towards the stairs out of the lab without another word.

"You got it, Agent Dunham." Astrid replied to the older agents retreating form.

Peter, seeing his chance to get out of the lab quickly escaping, grabbed his coat and darted after Olivia. "Hey, hold up!" he called after her, taking two steps at a time in his haste.

Olivia paused at the top of the steps, looking back at him, eyes narrowed.

"I'm coming with." he said, moving past her towards the door before she could stop him.

"It worked, Peter! Did you see that? It worked!" he heard Walter saying proudly as they left the lab together.

.

Olivia was unusually quiet, even for her, on the drive to Stoughton. Peter mulled over possible causes, assuming that his unrequested presence wasn't the cause of her silence. His earlier excursions from the lab with her had gone pretty well in his opinion, and besides, if she didn't want him along, she no doubt would have told him so immediately. He fidgeted in the silence, tapping his fingers in rhythm to the sound of the tires crossing the seams in the concrete, a habit he'd had as far back as he could remember. He snuck a glance over at Olivia's profile, trying to discern the look on her face. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek obsessively, and appeared deep in thought. The tip of her tongue emerged briefly, wetting her lips and forcing him to look away from her and out the window. The sun had gone down hours ago, and he felt the stirrings of hunger in his stomach. He hadn't really eaten anything since lunch that afternoon, and a cheeseburger was sounding better by the second, maybe with some bacon too…

"Do you dream much?"

The sound of Olivia's voice startled him, thoughts of cheeseburgers and bacon gone flying out the window, forgotten. "What?" he asked without thinking before her words registered. _Do I dream much? _She looked away from him as he cast his eyes towards her.

"It's nothing." she said, clearly embarrassed by her outburst. "Forget it."

Peter smiled to himself at her reaction. He may have only known her for a short time, but he was getting to know her better with every moment they spent together. Whatever was bothering her must really be something, or she would have never said anything. "What's on your mind, Olivia?" he asked casually, keeping his eyes on her.

She didn't respond right away, just glanced over at him and then back to the road ahead, her fingers white knuckled on the steering wheel. He kept his attention on her expectantly until she finally acknowledged him.

Olivia gave him a shy look. "When I was waiting to see Nina Sharp at Massive Dynamic, I must have…dozed off." She admitted, her face turning a light shade of red, and her fingertips letting go of the wheel momentarily. "Anyway, I had this really bizarre dream."

One of her hands dropped to her waist, fingers running over her stomach as if for reassurance, then back up to the wheel. Peter didn't think she was even aware she'd done it.

"What happened?" He tried to keep too much concern from showing in his voice. She didn't like people worrying over her, one thing he was absolutely sure of.

She pushed a lock of loose hair behind her ear and looked over at him. "It was weird, Broyles was there and he…well," she paused, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. She shook her head slightly in annoyance. "…suffice to say that what happened to the pregnant woman…was happening to me, and then I woke up."

Peter relaxed back in his seat. "Well…I can see why that would bother you." He replied, after picturing the grisly image for a moment.

Olivia snorted a laugh, running one of her hands through her blond hair. "Yeah. It didn't seem normal, at all." He could see her look his way again in his peripheral vision. "What do you think it meant?" Her voice was hesitant.

He opened his mouth, the obvious, t_hat you need to get more sleep,_ on the tip of his tongue. He averted his stupid mouth at the last moment, and shrugged instead. "Who knows? Probably nothing, I don't think there is much of a point in reading too much into them, you know?"

Olivia nodded, a slow grin appearing on her face. They glanced at each other simultaneously for few moments, and Peter found himself grinning along with her. She looked almost angelic in the faint moonlight, and he drew in a deep breath at the sight.

_She probably already knows. _Astrid's voice said in his head suddenly, forcing him to clear his throat and tear his eyes away. Maybe it would have been better if he'd stayed back at the lab. But then he then he thought of her going out here alone, and knew he was in the right place. Though she would probably kick his ass if she thought that was why he was here, which it honestly hadn't been initially.

"You know, I had a weird dream myself not too long ago." he admitted to her a few minutes later.

"Do tell." she encouraged him, keeping her eyes on the road.

"Okay…it was actually the morning you woke us up before going into the tank." She turned to him then, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Really?"

Peter nodded. "I was a kid again, running across this frozen lake we used to have by our house." He could see she was listening closely as he spoke. "When I got to the middle of the lake, the ice broke, and I fell through."

Olivia grimaced and glanced at him uncomfortably.

"Yeah, pretty gruesome, right? And after the ice broke and I was…drowning, I remember seeing somebody pounding on the ice above me, calling my name."

"That is weird." Olivia rolled her shoulders uncomfortably. "So who was it?"

"Who was what?"

"Who was pounding on the ice?"

"I don't know." he lied, keeping his face straight. "Good luck telling me what that dream means." he said sarcastically, trying to change the subject.

Olivia chuckled at his comment, though there was still something on her face that gave him the impression that she knew he wasn't telling her everything. The woman was too smart for her own good.

He saw the sign for the exit to Stoughton pass by, and Olivia pulled off the highway. The area they were looking for was in an industrial area, not too far from the highway. Before long, they found themselves in a grouping of warehouses, set up in a grid like city blocks. As they drew close to their destination, Olivia slowed down trying to read the poorly lit street signs as they passed them by.

"So here's Lessing." Olivia said turning her SUV down a side street. They passed through another intersection. "Borrow," she said to herself, straining to read the sign. "Belmont should be next."

The vehicle slowed to a crawl when they reached the next intersection. "This is it, Belmont." Peter said reading the next sign.

Olivia flipped the head lights off and they made the turn on to Belmont. She drove slowly, peering through the windshield at the rows of buildings. About half way down on the left was a particularly dilapidated structure with a car in the parking lot in front. As they crept closer, Peter thought it was the same gray car they'd seen on the satellite images. He pointed it out.

Olivia nodded her agreement. "This is it." She pulled over, letting the SUV idle to a stop in front of the warehouse, and killed the engine. She pulled open her glove box and removed several items, shoving them in her coat pocket. As she opened the door to get out, she looked over at him. "Stay here."

Peter shook his head, rejecting the notion instantly. "Sorry, that's just not gonna happen, Olivia." He opened his door and got out, closing it softly behind him.

She looked about to try to stop him, but then shrugged. "Stay behind me, at least." was her only further comment on the matter.

The door into the warehouse was locked, and Olivia removed a thin, black leather case from her pocket. Intrigued, Peter watched intently as she opened it, revealing a lockpick set. She examined the lock with her flashlight for a moment, and then selected two of the metallic picks. She handed him the light wordlessly and went to work on opening the door. She made short work of it, as the door was open in less than a minute. He was impressed.

As she was putting her tools away, she glanced up him. "What?" she whispered, slipping the case back into her pocket and reclaiming her flashlight.

Peter grinned and nodded towards the door. "You're pretty good at that." He said, keeping his voice low.

She made no response, just rolled her eyes and opened the door. Peter thought he caught a glimpse of a small smile on her face as she turned and went inside, with him following behind.

The interior was dark, with a musky smell that came with long disuse. They entered into a short narrow corridor that opened into a larger room lined with shelves full of objects that were unrecognizable in the dark. Olivia had her gun out, holding it ahead of her in one hand, balanced on top of the other holding the flashlight. She stepped lightly, careful not to make any noise, and Peter did his best to imitate her as they passed farther into the gloom. On one side of the room, he saw workbenches and a drill press, and what looked like an old wood lathe. Maybe it been a woodworking shop at some point in its past. Olivia kept moving, shining her light all around them as they went. As they moved around a row of machinery, he could see a doorway on the far wall, with yellowish light falling through it. Drawing closer to the doorway, they heard movement coming from within.

Putting her light away, Olivia looked back at him, eyes wide. She put a finger to her lips, and he nodded in return. Spying what looked like a heavy pipe on a nearby table; Peter picked it up carefully, and hefted it. It had some weight but was not too heavy to swing. He moved into position beside her, next to the open doorway. Their eyes met and she looked at him questioningly. Peter nodded that we was ready. A look of steely determination formed on her face, and then she was gone, spinning around the door frame and into the room beyond. He followed quickly, ducking under her outstretched arms as she held a surprised Dr. Claus Penrose at gunpoint.

"FBI! Put your hands up!" Olivia ordered, keeping her gun on the doctor. "I said put your hands up now!" she ordered again when he didn't comply fast enough for her. The doctor slowly raised his hands, his face surprisingly calm for having a gun pointed at it.

On a stretcher in the center of the room was a woman, strapped down and eyes wide with terror. In her mouth was some kind of metal device forcing it open wide. Above her head was a bright surgical light directed downwards, illuminating her face. There were tears streaming down her cheeks, and she let out a wordless whimper as Peter approached her.

"She's alive!" he said, reaching for the contraption holding her mouth open and removing it. As he went about releasing her hands, he heard a noise coming from a closed door on the other side of the room.

"Is there someone else here?" Olivia asked Penrose, her voice rising. The doctor made no response.

Peter saw her bend down, keeping her gun on the man, and remove another pistol from an ankle holster. Rising, she glanced over at him. "You have your phone?"

"Yeah." He said straightening, as she held the other gun out to him, grip first. He took it gingerly, recalling that the last time he'd held a gun was quite a while ago.

"Dial 17724." Olivia ordered. "Ask for Charlie Francis. Tell him we need field assist and to ping the GPS for the location. Safety's on the right. Do not let him move."

Peter nodded. Flipping the safety off, he pointed the gun at the Penrose's head. Olivia rushed to the other door, threw it open was gone. He heard a _Freeze!_ and that was all before the door swung shut.

Dialing his cell phone with one hand, Peter had to glance down for an instant to make sure he hit the right key. The doctor must have been waiting for such a moment because he lunged forward, tampering with the IV set up near the stretcher. "Hey! Back off!" Peter yelled, pointing the gun threateningly.

Without warning, the woman's back arched and she gasped, her arms thrashing and then falling back limply. Peter glanced down at her and saw that her eyes had glazed over. Her vitals monitor was showing a flatline. _Fuck!_ He froze at the sight, and Dr. Penrose ran for the open doorway.

Peter fired twice at the old doctor's back, but he didn't drop and was quickly out of sight. The reports were deafening, magnified by the enclosed space they were in. Yes, it had definitely been a while. Setting the gun down, he rushed over to the woman, feeling her neck for a pulse; there was none of course, the vitals monitor had already told him that. "Fuck!" he shouted, cursing himself for allowing this to happen. He turned off the IV, seeing that it been an anesthetic that the doctor had OD'd her on.

He looked around desperately, trying to see what kind of equipment there was in the little lab space Dr. Penrose had been using. There was very little that looked useful. It was mostly surgical tools for cutting someone's face off. Tossing objects every which way in his haste, he was about to give up when spotted something that did look useful. It was a laboratory power supply, with an adjustable current regulator. Grabbing his phone, he dialed the lab's number as an idea came to him.

"Hello?" he heard Astrid say.

"Astrid? Let me talk to Walter!" he said in a rush as he picked up a pair of thick metal rings he'd tossed aside earlier in his search.

He heard her handing the phone to Walter, telling him who it was.

"Hello son! We're just making some popcorn." Walter said jovially, obviously with his mouth full of said popcorn.

"Walter, I'm with a woman in her mid twenties." He gasped as he picked up the heavy power supply and set on a table near the woman. "She is going into cardiac arrest due to an overdose of anesthesia. Her heart just stopped."

"Do you have any cocaine?"

"Cocaine? No Walter, I don't have any cocaine."

"That's too bad. You'll have to shock her heart." Walter sounded almost happy about it.

"Yeah, I know that. Unfortunately, I don't have a defibrillator!" Peter said, wrapping the lead wires from the power supply around each of the metal rings. "What I need to know, is the optimum voltage for cardiac resuscitation…hey you still there?" he asked as Walter didn't reply immediately.

"Hmmm…try two hundred volts." Walter mused.

Peter set the two rings on the woman's chest carefully, then weighed them down with some old phone books he'd seen sitting on a shelf. After quickly checking all the connections, he set the voltage regulator at two hundred volts.

"Alright, here it goes." He stepped away from the stretcher and hit the power button on the power supply.

The woman's chest lifted upwards as her back arched from the shock. Peter turned the power off a moment later and looked at the vitals monitor; it was still flatlined.

"It's not working!" He told his father, his voice rising from desperation.

"Well, you're gonna have to crank it, son!" Walter told him around a mouthful of popcorn, enjoying himself immensely from the tone of his voice.

Peter increased the voltage slightly and tried it again. Her body arched upwards and this time when he cut the power, the monitor was showing a heart rate, the angular ticks racing along the line, the telltale beep announcing his success.

"Hey! It actually worked!" He told his father as he removed the phone books and tossed the metal rings aside.

"Good work, son. Good work!" Walter congratulated him. He could hear Astrid in the background asking what was going on.

"I gotta go Walter. Thanks." He ended the call.

The woman was conscious, and staring at him, her expression dazed.

"Hey." Peter said gently, bending over her and rubbing her tears away with his thumb. "You're gonna be okay."

A sob broke loose from her throat and she started to cry in unbridled relief. He kept one of his hands on her cheek as he dialed the number Olivia had told him to reach Agent Francis.

* * *

**Olivia** charged through the door, gun at the ready, and caught sight of a man's back just before he rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

"Freeze!" she shouted, dropping her gun the her side and racing after him down a short flight of stairs. She sprinted across the room, avoiding barrels and pallets that seemed to be strewn around the room at random. She slowed down at the corner, leading with her gun as she turned the corner. Ahead of her was a short hallway leading to a door with an exit sign mounted on the wall above it.

As Olivia started towards the door, two gunshots came in quick succession from behind her. _Peter!_ Penrose must have tried something, she knew Peter wouldn't have fired without reason. Hopefully the doctor was still alive. She hesitated for a split second, then continued her chase, rushing towards the exit door and throwing her weight into it. The door flew back against the outside wall with a crash, and she found herself on a stairwell leading down to what looked like the loading dock area for the surrounding warehouses. She saw her suspect in the distance, running down the narrow strip of pavement that led to the warehouse loading docks. The man seemed to be struggling with the pace, and she saw him stagger almost drunkenly into the brick exterior of the building he was closest to.

She started down the steps and about half way down decided it would be faster to jump on to the roof of an old car she saw parked below. Thinking of Peter and what he would say if he saw her, Olivia dropped over the railing and down to the car's ragtop. The force of her landing almost drove her off her feet. Glancing back up at the stairwell, she realized she might have underestimated the height just a bit.

Olivia rolled herself off the car's roof and landed lightly on her feet, quickly resuming her pursuit. The man was out of sight in front of her, and she figured he must have gone down one of the narrow corridor-like alleyways she could now see ran between the buildings. She glanced down each corridor as she came to them, and not seeing him down any of them, followed the truck lane until it ended at the street. Looking around she saw an old train yard off the side of the road, that once upon a time must have been used for supplying and shipping from the warehouse district.

The yard was deserted, with white fuel tanks set along a line of overgrown train tracks, their peeling paint covered in graffiti. She moved among them carefully, her gun out in front of her, listening for anything out of place. A coughing sound drew her attention, and she stopped, listening for it again. Other than the far off roar of trucks on the freeway, there was complete silence around her. Then the sound came again, a series of coughs, that she quickly honed in on. As she moved towards the source, the coughing continued unabated, until she rounded an old flat-bed rail car and saw her man, slumped down against the rusty wheel of the next car in line.

Olivia approached the man slowly, keeping her gun aimed at his head. He started coughing again as she drew closer and she could hear him wheezing now as well. She came to a stop in front of him, and let her weapon fall by her side. He was no threat, in fact he looked...Olivia stared at him eyes wide. He was an old man!_ What the hell? _She realized her mouth was hanging open, and closed it.

The man looked up at her. "He...he should have let me die...a long time ago. I...I was an experiment." he gasped, coughing again, struggling to breathe. As he spoke, Olivia had seen the wrinkles on his face become more pronounced, almost deeper. His hair was turning white before her eyes and his chin fell slowly down onto his chest.

Olivia thought it was over when he suddenly found the strength to look up at her again.

"Someone...someone paid him...to make me. The man I called my father. He should have let me die. That was his mistake. But he was blinded...because he loved me. He loved me. He..." His words came out slower and softer until finally his head fell to the side, and he spoke no more.

She holstered her weapon, and then ran her hands through her hair, glancing down at the dead man occasionally to make sure she wasn't crazy. It was over, finally. Walking away from the corpse, she pulled out her phone and called Peter.

He answered on the first ring. "Olivia!"

"Hey." she replied softly, feeling bone weary.

"You okay?" She could tell he was trying not to sound like he was too concerned, and it made her smile.

"Yeah." she admitted. "You?"

"Yeah, we're fine."

.

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.

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**Wow, that was long. The next chapter will definitely be the last for 1x02. Thanks for reading. Reviews make me happy.**


	20. Chapter 19 - End 1x02

**Chapter 19**

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**-Stoughton, Massachusetts**

**Olivia** walked slowly back to the warehouse Penrose and his...son had been working out of. Peter had told her that Charlie and the cavalry were on their way, so she didn't bother calling him, he would be there soon enough. She used the walk to wind herself down from the adrenaline left in her system from the chase, though when it was finally gone, its absence left her feeling like she could fall asleep standing up. There were sirens sounding in the distance as she climbed the stairwell back into the building.

As Olivia approached the door back into the chamber she'd chased the killer from, she heard sounds from the other side, Peter's voice, then a woman's. Pulling open the door, she stepped in to see Peter leaning with one hand on a table, and the woman sitting up on her stretcher, a sad smile on her face, no doubt trying to be amused at some witty comment he'd just made. Her eyes were understandably swollen from crying and there was still a hint of terror on her face.

Peter turned to her quickly. "Agent Dunham." he said formally. He nodded towards the woman with widened eyes. "This is Stacey."

"Peter." Olivia replied, quickly running her eyes over him for any injuries he'd neglected to tell her about over the phone. Seeing none, she moved farther into the room, noting two spent shell casings on the floor near the stretcher and her gun on a table nearby.

After securing her weapon in its holster, she moved closer, offering her hand to the young woman. "Hi Stacey, I'm Agent Olivia Dunham. How are you doing?" she asked her softly.

The young woman took her hand, gripping it tightly. A shudder went through her as she nodded her head in quick jerks, tears starting to pool in her eyes again. "Those men...they were...why were they doing that to me?" Her voice broke and she started sobbing again, her grip on Olivia's hand becoming almost painful.

Olivia placed her other hand on top of the distraught woman's, squeezing it gently. "Sweetie, those men are gone. They can't hurt you anymore." She pulled her into a light hug. "You're safe now."

She turned and glanced back at Peter as the young woman cried against her chest. There was an abashed expression on his face, and he looked away from her. Olivia realized that he blamed himself for what happened with the woman, and for Dr. Penrose's escape. She would deal with that later, there may be some blame to pass around, but most, if not all, fell squarely on Claus Penrose.

"Peter, what happened here?" Olivia kept her stare on him, willing him to look at her.

He lifted his gaze, the self-recrimination still evident on his face. "It was my fault. Penrose stopped her heart while I was distracted."

Olivia glanced down at the woman in her arms. _Her heart stopped?_ The woman seemed to be doing okay now, considering everything that had happened to her. "Then how-" she started, but was interrupted as several paramedics and Charlie Francis entered the room, followed by other agents who began to process the scene.

Olivia pulled away from the woman as the medics rushed over to the stretcher and began looking her over.

"Hey Liv." Charlie looked around the room in distaste. "Bishop."

"Agent Francis." Peter replied as he approached one of men checking her vitals. "She was overdosed on anesthesia." he informed the man. "Her heart stopped but I was able to resuscitate her."

"How'd you manage to do that without a defibrillator?" The medic replied curiously, looking around the room.

Peter shrugged uncomfortably, "I uh...made one."

"You what?" Charlie and the medic said at the same time.

"It's not that big a deal." he said, looking between the men. "The parts were all here."

The medic began questioning him on how he'd done it, and Peter pointed out a black box on a table, that reminded her of stereo. The man nodded in understanding, clearly impressed at Peter's ingenuity.

"Right." Charlie said, staring at Peter briefly, then turning back to Olivia. "What else we got here?"

"I pursued one the suspects down to the loading docks out back." Olivia rubbed at her eyes with both hands. "He's dead." she stated flatly.

"You?" he asked, his eyes tightening.

Olivia shook her head and grunted. "No, he died of uh...natural causes." She knew her answer was cryptic, but she couldn't really explain it in front these people without sounding crazy.

"Natural causes?" Charlie sounded skeptical.

"Yeah. You'll see." Olivia gave him the details on the body's location. "We also have a suspect on the run, Dr. Claus Penrose. He fled while Peter was helping the girl."

Peter stepped over to them. "I took two shots at him, but I was kinda distracted at the time."

Charlie looked at Olivia, an eyebrow raised at this new information.

"My backup gun." was all she said in explanation, knowing she would probably get earful from him later on the matter.

Charlie's head swiveled between her and Peter, a look of concern growing on his face. "Look," he said reasonably. "why don't you and MacGyver here, head back, and I'll finish up."

Olivia started to protest, "Charlie, I'm-"

He shook his head, "You look dead on your feet, Liv. Go home, get some sleep." Keeping his stare on her, she knew he wasn't going to back down this time.

With a toss of her head, Olivia relented. "Fine." She thought caught a look of agreement on Peter's face that disappeared when she turned to him. "Let's go." She said, giving him a look.

He followed her out of the building wordlessly, maintaining his distance from her. As they neared her SUV, she glanced back saw that the look of self-condemnation had returned to his features. It didn't suit him.

"What are you thinking?" she asked once they were both in their seats. She had chosen not to start the engine until he responded to her, so she waited with her hands resting lightly on the bottom half of the steering wheel.

Peter let out a breath, running his fingers through the whiskers on his cheek. "I'm thinking that girl almost died, and it would have been my fault if she had." He leaned his head back against the rest and glanced over at her. "That maybe...maybe this was a mistake." he said doubtfully.

Olivia felt her heart clench. _A mistake? What is he saying?_ "Peter, you saved her life, and at the end of the day, that's all that matters." She tried to put as much conviction as possible into her voice. He had to understand that. He couldn't leave, they were just getting started.

"Her life wouldn't have been in danger, if I hadn't allowed myself to be distracted." he responded, with just as much of his own conviction.

"No." Olivia shook head forcefully. "Her life was in danger from the moment Penrose and his...son took her. You saved her...We saved her." She kept her attention on him, still seeing some lingering doubt on his face. "And as for Penrose escaping," she shrugged casually. "we'll find him eventually. Do you think he was prepared for this?"

After a thinking about it for a moment, his face cleared, doubt replaced by his trademark grin. "Alright...maybe you're right." he said, giving her a sideways look.

Olivia started the engine and pulled the vehicle away from the curb, riding in silence for a while. "Did you really _make_ a defibrillator?" she asked him as they took the exit back onto the highway. She couldn't fathom that; he truly was his father's son.

Peter shrugged, glancing at her. "Really, it's not that big a deal." he said modestly, repeating his earlier comment.

Olivia thought otherwise, but she just couldn't tell him that. "If you say so." she said blandly, looking at him through her peripheral vision.

.

After dropping Peter off at his hotel, Olivia munched on her bag of fries as she made her way back to Brighton. Peter had requested she stop for food on the way, claiming he was famished. He'd ordered a huge cheeseburger, and she could still smell it in her upholstery. She had settled for the fries, which he'd looked at her oddly for ordering, but had made no comment. Astrid had already taken Walter back to the hotel, and she'd told Peter that she would get a hold of him later the next day.

"_You mean I get to sleep in?" he asked impishly, holding the door open._

"_Yep. Sleep as long as you want." she replied, tilting her head forward so she could see him better outside the car. "Until I call, at least." she added, chuckling at his frown._

_Peter started to say something, then stopped, looking away from her. Then he bent down again, "Good night, Olivia." he said intently, all traces of humor gone from his tone._

_She nodded her head. "Good night, Peter. I'll see you." she replied, their eyes meeting briefly before he shut the door, slapping the door frame once for good measure as she pulled away._

Olivia smiled at the memory as she pulled the SUV into her normal parking spot at her building. She hopped out, locking her doors behind her, and made her way through the building to her apartment. She stepped inside and tossed her things on the table in the entryway, looked around and observed that everything was as she had left it. It had been a long day, a long forty-eight hours, actually. As Olivia slowly stripped out of her clothes and got herself ready for bed, she realized that she felt better than she had when she'd left this morning, having barely thought about John all day. Aside from her episode in the early that morning at the motel, of course. Her last thought as she collapsed onto her bed and sleep took her, was that she'd spent much of her day with Peter.

.

The next afternoon she found herself in Nina Sharp's office, once again waiting for her to make an appearance. She wondered if the woman received some perverse pleasure from making her guests wait for her arrival. The office was sparsely decorated, though the view of the New York City skyline from the ceiling height windows was spectacular.

Olivia had woken up early that morning, after having one of the best nights of sleep she could remember having in days. She'd gone in to lab, enjoying the silence as she filled out her case report from the night before in her office. After disassembling the pulse camera, she'd elected to drive to New York, instead of flying, to return it. The three and and half hour drive had given her some time to herself, something she'd been missing since the whirlwind of Flight 627 and its aftermath with the new Fringe Division. Her plan for the day had been to return the camera, then go into the office and have her debriefing with Agent Broyles, which Ms. Sharp was now impeding.

The door opened and Nina Sharp entered, a smile on the red-haired woman's face. "Ah, Agent Dunham." Her voice was warm as she took a seat across from Olivia. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon." She angled her head, eyes narrowed. "You're very efficient, I like that."

Olivia returned the other woman's smile. "Well...," she began, not really sure how to respond to her compliment. "I'm just doing my job, Ms. Sharp. I wanted to thank you again for your help."

Nina shrugged dismissively, "That's what I'm here for. Massive Dynamic is always at the Bureau's disposal." She paused as a technician in a white lab coat entered the room and retrieved the camera. "I'm sure it served you well. I'd ask you what you wanted the camera for, but...I respect your confidentiality."

_I'm sure you do._ Olivia thought she detected a touch of condescension in the other woman's voice, and in the smile on her face. "Like I said, we're grateful for your help." She forced a thin smile on her lips.

It seemed like every conversation she had with Nina Sharp had another level of complexity that was unspoken beneath the surface of her words. Olivia's fingernails were gripping her thighs with increasing pressure below the edge of the table as the tension grew between them.

"It seems your settling well into your new position." the other woman said suddenly, swiveling in her chair towards the view of the skyline.

Olivia blinked at the sudden change in topic. "Excuse me?"

"I don't think a woman of your obvious talents should be in public service." Nina said frankly. There was a predatory smile on her face as she spoke.

"Oh? And where should I be?" Olivia queried, trying to figure out where Nina was going with this. Surely she wasn't suggesting...

"Here." Nina spread her hands wide in front of her. "At Massive Dynamic." There was a certainty in her voice, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"So what, you're offering me a job?" Olivia was perplexed. The woman had just commented on her new position.

Nina leaned back in her seat and shrugged. "Philip Broyles is a good man, and his record speaks for itself...and I'm sure you got into law enforcement because you wanted to make a difference. So consider this." She held up a finger to make her point. There was a huge ring on her hand; it looked like a seal of royalty. "Massive Dynamic is one of the ten largest economic entities in the world. Our weapons technologies shape the Defense Department's strategies." She got to her feet, pacing the length of her desk. "Our investments sway the markets and make or break presidential elections. Overseas, we have responsibilities traditionally sacred to the state. The right to direct private armies, to manage global affairs into stable equilibrium."

"You're serious about this." Olivia found her diatribe rather disturbing. _To manage global affairs? Who did they think they were? _It was beginning to sound like the plot of a bad action movie.

"Yes, I am." Nina responded, all her earlier casualness gone. "Not to mention, a position here would speed your efforts to find answers."

"You're referring to _The Pattern_?" Olivia asked, watching the other woman closely.

"Among other things."

"What other things?" Olivia wasn't sure what she was implying. She had the feeling she was wading into deep waters.

Nina let out a little laugh, as if Olivia had made a joke. "Consider my offer, Agent Dunham." She sat down at her desk, and began sorting through a stack of documents, their conversation clearly at an end.

Olivia stood, looking down at the other woman. "I will." She would do no such thing, of course. The _1984_ vibes this place seemed to exude assured her of that. "How is Dr. Bell?" she asked brazenly, looking over shoulder as she opened the door to leave. "Still out of the country, I presume?"

The redhead looked up sharply, eyes intent on her. "Yes, he is. He's doing fine."

"Huh." She effected a little laugh of her own. "I'm sure he is."

.

Olivia had no sooner sat down at her desk in the Federal Building, when Agent Broyles dropped into the chair next to her. He must have been on the lookout for her arrival.

"Our friend Penrose took a hit." he announced without preamble. "Forensics tracked a two-mile spatter trail leading from the warehouse out to route one. Local PD's on the lookout, and I've ordered checkpoints along the interstate, but nothing so far. He's still out there."

Olivia waited, expecting him to comment on Peter being the shooter. While giving her gun to a civilian was definitely not regulation, she'd really had no other choice, and was prepared to defend herself and Peter. He'd saved the victim's life after all; surely her superior could understand that.

Broyles leaned closer, "Listen," he began in a low voice. "every aspect of these investigations is strictly classified. All of it. You understand that, don't you?"

"Of course." She nodded hesitantly. The change in topic had left her off-balance. She hoped he wasn't implying something about Peter, or Walter for that matter.

His dark eyes regarded her thoughtfully, face impassive before he spoke. "While certain private individuals…including Nina Sharp, may have been granted clearance regarding _The Pattern_, that clearance is limited."

"I understand, sure." Olivia replied, relieved he hadn't been referring to the Bishops. She leaned closer on her elbow. "But, uh…I'm not really clear on what you're getting at." Did he actually think she would leak information to Nina Sharp? That couldn't be it. He would've never hired her if he thought her capable of doing such a thing.

"When you were with her, did she share anything with you?" he inquired. "Did she mention the pattern? Did she comment or ask you anything about the details of your investigation?"

Olivia was pleased to see that wasn't the only one who had reservations about Nina Sharp. "Yes she did…she said you were a good man." She wasn't sure of the nature of their relationship, so made no mention of her own uneasiness with her.

Broyles looked down for a moment, but not before she saw a small smile on his face that made her want to raise her eyebrows in shock. It couldn't be _that_ kind of relationship could it?

He looked up again. "Is that all she said?" There was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

Maybe it was that kind of relationship, as unlikely as it seemed. "No." She let a slow grin form. "She offered me a job."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Really?" Olivia thought it was the first time she'd ever seen him at a loss for words. He shifted in his chair, giving her a speculative gaze. "And what did you say to that?"

"I told her you were gonna give me a raise." She said sarcastically, putting a hopeful look on her face.

"Is that right?" he asked dryly. Getting to his feet, he passed her a handful of official looking documents that she hadn't noticed him carrying. "Pass these along to the Bishops. They need to fill them out and sign them. _All_ of them." He started to move away but then stopped. "Oh, and Dunham?" he said over his shoulder. "Make sure your backup weapon stays that way. Yours." He gave her a meaningful glance, and then walked away before Olivia could do more than open her mouth in reply.

"Okay then." Olivia said, putting him out of her mind as she shuffled through the documents he'd given her. They seemed to be mostly tax forms, and when she came to the last few, she understood why Broyles had felt the need to add that last bit. She suspected Peter would not be happy about it.

Pulling out her phone, she dialed his number. He didn't answer immediately and she was about to hang up when he finally did.

"Hey Peter, it's me."

"Olivia." He said cheerily. "Where have you been? I didn't think you were serious about letting me sleep in all day." She could hear his smile through the phone.

She glanced down at her watch. It was after 4 pm. "You're not just getting up are you?" Olivia asked, hoping he wasn't the kind of guy who could just lie on a couch all day doing nothing. Not that it mattered to her, of course.

"Don't I wish." he replied wistfully. "No, Walter had me up for breakfast. You don't even want to know how he woke me." He warned her in a voice that sounded like he wasn't kidding.

"Okay then…" she trailed off, as several disturbing images came to mind. "Well, I need you guys to meet me at the lab. I have some paperwork from Broyles that I need you to fill out."

"That's not gonna be a problem." There was scratchy sound that must've been the phone rubbing against his whiskers. "Where do you think I've been all day?"

With a grin, Olivia told him she'd be there soon and ended the call. She'd just spotted Charlie, looking like he was leaving for the day, and wanted to catch him before he left. Grabbing her things and Broyles forms, she hurried after him, finally catching him on the way outside.

"Hey Charlie!" she called after to him as he opened the door to the basement parking garage.

He looked back at her over his shoulder. "Dunham. Where have you been all day? Out with your new partner?" He held the door open for her, waiting for her to catch up to him.

Olivia thought he was joking, but with Charlie it was hard to tell. She'd heard him tell his wife he loved her in the same tone he'd use when interrogating a suspect.

"What's the matter? You worried I'm gonna replace you?" She teased, walking beside him into the garage.

"Huh." he grunted, raising an eyebrow at her. "With his shot? Not likely." He cast a look in her direction, catching her eye. She knew what he was going to say next. "How are you doing, Liv?" He wasn't asking about yesterday's events.

Olivia looked away, shrugging her shoulders indifferently. "I'm dealing with it." she said, trying to keep sadness from creeping into her voice. It was what it was. The bastard didn't deserve any more tears from her. Shaking her head in annoyance at her weakness, she changed the subject. "So guess who offered me a job today?"

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "I'm guessing it wasn't a retirement home," he said, nudging her with his elbow. "you know, based on your treatment of our friend last night."

Olivia choked out a laugh. Charlie was one of a kind; always so serious, then out of nowhere, he'd have her cracking up with some offhand comment. "Nope." she replied. "Get this, Nina Sharp."

He stopped short, a befuddled look on his face. "Nina Sharp? Massive Dynamic Nina Sharp?"

"Uh huh."

"I'm gonna sue your ass off if you don't stop harassing us, Nina Sharp?"

"Yep." she confirmed, getting kick out of his reaction. It wasn't that often she got to see him completely baffled.

"No shit." He resumed his pace towards their vehicles. "Did you take the job?"

"What do you think?" Olivia scoffed.

They reached Charlie's vehicle, another government issue black SUV. He leaned against the front end, idly toying with the hood ornament with one hand.

"So how'd it go yesterday?" he asked. At her questioning look, he elaborated. "With the Bishops. You think this…assignment Broyles has you on is gonna work out?"

She considered his question. It had gone well yesterday, they'd managed to solve an unsolved twelve-year-old case in a single day. "Yeah, I think it should, assuming Peter sticks around."

Charlie looked at her keenly. "You think he won't?"

Olivia shrugged. "No…I think he will." she said after a moment. "He blamed himself for Penrose's escape. I guess he had some doubts."

He nodded slowly. "Well, the paramedics sure seemed impressed with him after you two left the scene last night. The one wouldn't stop going on and on about how he'd made that defib." There was an annoyed look on his face at the memory.

"Yeah, cause that's not impressive at all." she said ironically, rolling her eyes at her friend.

Charlie gave her a scowl and glanced down at his watch. "Hey, I gotta go. I told Sonia I'd be home early for once."

"Tell her I said hi." Olivia told him sincerely. She'd always liked Sonia, though they didn't see each other often.

"Will do. Take care, Livvy."

.

Olivia nearly collided with an unfamiliar man carrying a large box as she walked through the door into the lab. She quickly stepped back, letting the man pass by. Looking around for Peter or Walter, she spied another man carrying more boxes into her office at the back. Curious as to what was going on, she moved down the steps farther into the lab. Astrid's head suddenly popped up from below a countertop, causing her to jump.

The curly-haired agent giggled at startling her, her hand covering her mouth. "Sorry, Agent Dunham. I didn't know you were here."

Olivia moved over to her. "I just got here. What's all this?" she gestured at the unfamiliar faces.

Astrid shrugged. "Agent Broyles sent them for you. I'm not sure what's in them. I told them to put them in your office."

Olivia walked over to one sitting on a countertop that had yet to be taken away. Taking the lid off, she saw that it was full of file folders. With a groan, she put the lid back on, not wanting to deal with paperwork at the moment.

She glanced over at the younger woman. "Where's Peter? I talked to him earlier and he said he was here."

"He is." Astrid replied with a muted grin. "He and Walter are down in the basement storage room."

"I didn't know there was a basement storage room." Olivia swept her gaze around the lab, looking for this hidden storage room. It was not immediately apparent.

"Yeah, me neither." Astrid agreed. "Dr. Bishop had some lab tables sitting over the trapdoor this whole time." She pointed towards the back corner of the lab, behind the old tank.

Olivia was about to go check it out, when she heard Peter's voice.

"Walter, I'm telling you, I don't think those are mine." She saw his head rising from the floor, in almost comical manner as he came up the steps from below. He was looking back over his shoulder as spoke.

Walter followed him up, a disgruntled look on his face. "Of course they are, son. You just don't remember."

"Whatever you say, Walter." Peter muttered to himself, dusting his shirt sleeves off.

He was wearing a gray button down shirt, untucked, with a pair of faded blue jeans. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and he scratched at this throat, with an irritated look on his face. When he saw her there watching him, he sauntered over to her.

"Hey Olivia." Peter said casually, running his hand through his dark hair. "Walter was just showing me his junk collection. Apparently it's gone untouched since he was put away." He peeked into the box she'd open earlier. "That looks like fun." he commiserated, leaning back against the table at her side.

"Yeah, tell me about it." she grunted unhappily. "Speaking of fun, you and your father need to fill out this paperwork, so Broyles can get you your credentials." Olivia handed him his stack of the documents, then walked over to the table Walter was sitting and passed him the rest fill out. She took a seat next to Walter, not wanting to be so close to Peter when the inevitable explosion arrived.

She watched Peter covertly as he flipped through the pages, his blue eyes scanning each in succession. When he reached the last page, she winced, seeing the muscle in his jaw clench as he read the pages contents.

"What the hell is this?" he complained in tight voice, holding up the offending sheet and looking directly at her. "I acknowledge that by signing this document, I waive my constitutional right against unreasonable search and seizure? Do you think I'm an idiot? I'm not signing this!"

"I however, will sign it." Walter said, satisfied with himself.

"Well, of course _you_ will." Peter said angrily, walking over to their table. "What have you got to lose? You've already been committed to a mental institution, Walter."

"Peter, you have to sign it too." Olivia said earnestly, trying to keep her tone light. Surely he could see was just a formality, she'd signed one of them herself when she'd first joined the Bureau.

"I'm not signing my rights away to the Federal Government." he snarled at her, eyes blazing. "I already got enough trouble in my life."

He threw the papers down in front of her. Olivia flinched slightly at the loud smack they made as they hit the table. She looked up and met his furious stare with one her own, feeling her temper start to ignite. Who the hell did he think he was? Did he think this was all her idea? That she wanted to cause him problems? Before she could say anything, he suddenly turned, and walked quickly out of the lab, slamming the doors loudly behind him. _Well, that went well Olivia_, she said to herself.

Olivia had thought he'd be unhappy about signing it, who wouldn't be? It sounded very ominous. But she thought she'd be able to reason with him, to let her explain. That furious anger he'd displayed, she hadn't seen it since they were getting Walter out of St. Claire's. She'd almost forgotten about it. Letting out a sigh, she looked up and saw that Astrid was giving her a wide-eyed stare from where she'd watched the whole thing.

"Agent Dunham, I'm sure he'll come around." she said, nodding her head nervously. She hesitated, and then went on. "Do you mind if I head home? I was getting ready to, when you came in."

"Sure, Astrid. I'll see you next week." Olivia waved her away. It was Friday, the younger woman probably had plans for the night.

"My son has always had a bit of a temper." Walter said suddenly after Astrid had left. "He gets that from me." he said sadly.

Olivia glanced at him, then went about reorganizing the scattered papers. She didn't really wanting to talk about Peter and his temper. It just made her tired, and pissed off.

"About my former colleague, Penrose, and his son," Walter continued. "It's one of the inherent pitfalls of being a scientist, trying to maintain that distinction…between God's domain and our own. Sometimes, I forget that myself. But then, you already know that."

Olivia hadn't really been paying that close of attention to what he'd been saying, but his last words jerked her head up. "What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.

"If you've read my file, then you know the truth about Peter's medical history." Walter explained. He was looking at her intently, like he'd just revealed something momentous. "I've been meaning to ask you to-"

"Walter, I don't know what you're talking about." Olivia cut in, shaking her head in confusion. "There was no mention of his medical history in the file. Just his birthday." Was there something wrong with Peter? The thought made her earlier anger start to drain away.

"Oh." he replied softly, relief evident on his face. "I was going to ask you to keep it between just the two of us," He smiled at her conspiratorially. "But, uh…I suppose, then, there's no need." He looked away from her, and shifted uneasily in his seat, before rising and moving away from her.

"Walter." Olivia called after him. "Is there something I need to know?"

He stopped and looked back at her, his face unreadable. "No, my dear. Everything's fine." After refusing to meet her eyes, he shuffled over to the stairs down to his storage room, and disappeared.

Olivia shook her head in frustration. _These Bishops are going to be the death of me, _she thought wearily, holding her head in her hands. After a while, she got up and grabbed a pen and the documents Peter had refused to sign. She set them prominently on display in the center lab table, and walked out of the lab.

* * *

**Peter** slammed the doors behind him and hurried out of the building. There was no way in hell he was signing those papers. He walked along the concrete path, around the small lake in the center of the quad. The place was crowded for the time of day it was, that sweet spot between the end of the afternoon classes and the start of night classes. It probably had something to do with the nice weather they'd had that day. He approached the bench that he and Olivia had sat together on the day before, and dropped down onto it.

Resting his chin on his fist, he stared out over the lake absently, feeling his anger diminish in the pleasant evening atmosphere. _I may have overreacted there a bit,_ he said to himself uncomfortably. With his anger gone, he was able to admit to that it really hadn't been about his rights being violated. It was what the papers signified that troubled him. They were like roots, holding him in place. After the mess of things he'd made the night before, he still wasn't sure that he belonged here, despite his conversation in the car with Olivia. He'd almost gotten that girl killed. _Fuck, _he thought, looking down at his feet.

He saw a woman's feet stop in front of him. Thinking it was Olivia, he looked up quickly, happy that she'd followed him. It was Astrid.

Seeing his smile fade at the sight of her, she gave him dirty look. "Gee, thanks you big jerk." she said, hands on her hips.

"Sorry." he apologized hastily. "I thought you were-"

"Obviously." she interrupted, her tone still offended. "What's your problem, Peter? What was that about back there?"

He opened his mouth to try to explain, but she wasn't done.

"Do you think I'm an idiot? That Agent Dunham is? Because we've both signed that already." she finished. Her eyebrows were raised, awaiting his response.

Peter ran over what he'd said back in the lab. Had he mentioned something about having to be an idiot to sign that? He had, he realized. _That's unfortunate._ He looked up at Astrid, an abashed look on his face. "I didn't really mean to imply that…" he stopped at the skeptical look on her face. "How mad is she?" he asked instead.

Astrid pursed her lips. "Hmm. I'd say on a scale of one to ten, you should get your butt back in there and apologize." She turned to go then said, "And sign the damn paper if you want to get a paycheck." Shaking her head, she walked off without another word.

Peter got to his feet, and walked slowly back to the Kresge Building, running over what he was going to say to her. He went through the lobby and down the stairwell that led to the basement hallway.

As he neared the lab door, it swung open suddenly and Olivia emerged. Her eyes flicked towards his briefly then she looked away, over his shoulder. Her face was expressionless as she drew closer and then walked by him without acknowledging him at all.

Peter stopped, turning back to her. "Olivia…wait…" he called after her. Not stopping or even looking back, she took the stairs upwards, her blond hair flying as she spun herself around the landing to the next set of stairs and was gone.

"Shit." he said out loud, looking around anxiously.

Flinging open the lab door he went inside, his eyes immediately drawn to the neatly arranged pile of documents she'd left for him. There was even a pen perfectly centered on top. With a sigh, he stepped down to the table and began filling out the tax documents first.

.

Later that night, after eating a dinner of delivery pizza, Peter found himself lying on his couch, flipping through the channels, not really watching anything. He glanced at his phone on the coffee table, seeing if there were any new texts. There were none. Turning his attention back to the tv, he managed to catch the beginning of a new _NOVA_ on one of the science channels that he'd never seen before. Quickly becoming engrossed, he settled in to watch.

When the show finally ended it was close to 2am. He flipped the tv off and settled back down on the couch. He checked his phone again, still no texts. Giving up, he tossed it back down, and crossed his hands behind his head on the pillow he was using. As he lay there, he thought bitterly that it was a Friday night, and he was stuck here in a hotel room with his father. Tomorrow, he thought he might do some scouting with hopes of rectifying that. Closing his eyes, he tried to sleep.

The silence of the room made eventually made him aware of Walter's voice coming from the bed on the other side of the room.

"Zero, one, one, two, three. Eight, thirteen, twenty-one, thirty-four, fifty-five…"

"Hey! Walter!" he said loudly to his father.

"Oh! You're awake, Peter. Me too. I was trying to lull myself to sleep."

Peter shook his head on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. "Yeah, I'm... I'm aware of that." He closed his eyes, rubbing his fingertips into them until he saw colors. "I can hear you. You think you could maybe do that in your head?"

"Wasn't I?" his father let out a giggle that sounded to Peter like madness. "I thought I was. Sorry, son."

"That's okay." Peter sighed, turning on his side and trying to find a comfortable position. "Just try to keep it down, all right?" He rolled to his back again, as the side position just wasn't working for him. Closing his eyes, he tried relaxing, and letting himself slide into sleep.

"One, two, thirty-three, three, seventy-seven, two, twenty-one, six, one-hundred-ten..."

Peter opened his eyes, staring at the silhouettes of the room. What had Walter said the other day? A guy at St. Claire's had sung it every night? Feeling a bit like a fool, he opened his mouth and started to sing. "_Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily…_"

"Son?" Walter's voice rang out, sounding frightened if Peter wasn't mistaken. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Walter, it's me." Peter answered dryly. "Who else would it be? Now stop talking and close your eyes, okay?" he waited for a response, when there was none forthcoming, he started again. "_Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily… life is but a dream…_" He finished out the song, and the sang it again. When he finished, he listened closely for any further numbers from Walter. It was silent, then he heard a soft snore from across the room.

"Thank god." he said to himself, closing his eyes again. He lay there, for what seemed like an eternity, before he opened his eyes again. _Great, now I can't sleep. _He was shifting around uncomfortably on the couch, when the his cell phone buzzed, the screen lighting up.

Peter grabbed it instantly, sitting up and feeling wide awake. Looking at the number on the display, he felt his heart lurch. It was her. He looked at the time. 2:43. He'd texted her almost five hours ago.

He read what she'd wrote back to him. _What._

Peter swallowed uneasily. That didn't sound promising.

He quickly typed a response. _I signed the papers. _He hit send and waited.

Olivia didn't respond right away, and he put his phone down, watching it lie on the table. He started scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation as the wait for her reply began to drag out. Maybe she'd fallen asleep, or maybe she'd actually replied hours ago, and he was only just now getting her text, through some technical glitch. That had happened to him before, many times actually. Shit, what if she'd sat around waiting for his reply and it had never came?

His phone buzzed again and he snatched it up in relief, reading again. _Good._

That's all? He fell back on the couch, typing another reply. _I'm sorry._

Her response was quicker this time. _I'm glad. Why are you still awake?_

Peter smiled to himself as he replied._ Couldn't fall asleep. Why are you?_

She sent her reply back almost instantly. _Couldn't fall asleep either. Good night Peter._

Peter typed again. _Good night Livia. _As he was about to hit the send button he saw that he'd missed the first letter of her name. He thought about fixing it, but decided he liked it that way. Not that he would call her that to her face, but he thought he could get away with it in a text. He hit send.

Setting his phone down, he lay back on the couch again, falling into a dreamless asleep almost instantly.

.

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**So that's the end of 1x02. Thanks for reading. Leave a review if you have a few minutes to spare. Thanks again for reading, stay tuned for 1x03. :-)**

**EDIT: -thanks to amynoemi for pointing something out to me. I changed the scene with Peter on the bench slightly.**


	21. Chapter 20 - Interlude I

**Chapter 20**

.

**-Charlestown, Boston**

**Peter **nosed the old station wagon slowly around the corner of the building, giving him a clear view of Bunker Hill Street. Glancing to his right, he saw that the street was clear all the way to Vine. He looked the other way and saw it. The black Lincoln was a little over a block away, and had pulled over to the curb across from an old cemetery on the right hand side of the street. Swiveling his head over each shoulder, he seemed to be clear in all directions. He pulled the wagon all the way out into the intersection, turning left towards the Lincoln. There was a silver minivan parked on the same side of the street as the cemetery, and he pulled up behind it, checking himself again after he did so. The spot behind the minivan gave him diagonal view of the Lincoln, while at the same time affording him a bit of cover.

He didn't really think anyone would be able to recognize him at a glance, with the baseball hat he'd pulled low, and the large pair of aviator sunglasses he'd picked up at a gas station. But then again, Eddie Keating had known him on sight, as had several of his gang of leg-breakers, so he couldn't be too careful.

He hadn't heard from Olivia again after their late night texting several days ago, so he assumed that there were no new cases, at least of the twisted variety requiring his father's know how. He'd been dropping Walter off at the lab the last few days, as spending every waking moment with his father was really starting to wear on his nerves. Between the arbitrary nudity, the random bouts of mysophobia that seemed to be triggered for reasons he had yet to figure out, and the little hints he'd begun to drop every so often about his lack of a profession, Peter was beginning to have more doubts about his ability to just live with his father than he'd had about doing the job itself. Not to mention the cramped quarters, and the regular intimations that he should call and check up on Olivia. As if she would ever need him to check up on her. That's not to say that the urge to contact her never came over him, but he really had no valid reason to do so.

All in all, Peter needed some freedom from his father, and he didn't want to be looking over his shoulder everywhere he went, either. Which was why he'd been tracking Eddie and his associates in his free time over the last few days. It hadn't been hard to find them again; Eddie and his crew had never been that creative. It was simply a matter of watching one of the old hangouts they'd used before, and waiting for them to show up. And shown up they had, one after the other the morning he'd started his reconnaissance.

Peter had tailed Michael Kelly the first day, his old buddy from way back when. They had gone to middle and high school together, until Peter had dropped out at least. Years later, the falling out they'd had over Tess had ended that friendship permanently. Michael knew him the best of the lot, so he'd had to take extra precautions that day, following him from the back seat of a cab, tossing bills over the seat to the driver as they went. His old friend had not ventured far outside of Charlestown, only heading over to Chelsea at one point. The rest of his day had been spent at one of the two bars that Eddie owned.

The next one on his list was Eddie's nephew, Anthony, and he had yielded much the same results. Michael and he had never gone anywhere near Cambridge, which was his main point of concern. The two of them had been all over Charlestown though, which made going there in any capacity a risky proposition. There were several other associates that could probably ID him, if they happened to be thinking about him when they saw him, but it was Michael and Anthony that were the main problem. And Eddie himself, of course.

The passenger door on the Lincoln opened. Peter grabbed the small pair of binoculars he'd brought along, and took a look long through them. Eddie climbed out, looking around for a moment before bending down to the open door and saying something to the driver. He looked like he'd aged since Peter had seen him last. His hair was more gray now than the brown it had been, and it looked like he'd put on a more than a few pounds.

Peter grinned to himself, remembering hearing him brag once about finishing the Boston Marathon. His running days appeared to be long behind him. Eddie crossed around the front of the black sedan and entered a bar across the street from the cemetery. The bar wasn't one of the two he remembered him owning, and he wondered if Eddie had been expanding his little empire in his absence.

He lowered the binoculars, setting them back on the seat beside him. Realistically, he knew that the chances of running into any of them in a city the size of Boston were infinitesimal, but threats had been made, and infinitesimal was not zero. The possibility of a case bringing him to Charlestown made him decidedly nervous. Having Feds in the area would be sure to draw their attention.

Seeing movement behind the wagon in the rearview mirror, Peter angled his face away from the sidewalk as a woman walking her dog passed by on his right. Settling back in his seat, he waited for Eddie to return to the car.

It had been like this all day, Eddie had gone from stop to stop, never staying at any one place for more than ten minutes. Could he be collecting? It seemed unlikely that he would be himself. That's what he had goons like Michael and Anthony for. Peter had gone on a few runs himself with Michael, before their estrangement. It was then that he'd discovered his penchant for violence, and subsequently, his distaste for the pleasure he derived from it. His stint as a leg-breaker for Big Eddie had been short lived, much like every other occupation he'd ever found himself in.

The entrance to the bar swung open again and Eddie strolled out, moving to his car quickly and getting in. The sedan pulled away from the curb and accelerated away. Peter waited for a count of ten before pulling the wagon out from behind the minivan and heading in the direction the black sedan had departed.

He stayed far behind the sedan, letting several cars pull off side streets and out in front of him. Eddie seemed to be heading back towards his base of operations, which had always been the bar on Main Street. Keeping his distance, Peter followed him until he was satisfied that it was indeed the case, then turned off on a side street and pulled over at the next block.

Grabbing his notebook, he penciled in the rest of the details of Eddie's day, from the moment he'd picked up his trail. Leaning his head back against the rest, Peter rubbed at his eyes, feeling rather exhausted for having sat in a car all day. A few days of observation did not a pattern make, so he would need to repeat this several times over the period of a week or two to get truer picture of their daily routines. _If I'm even still here by then._ The rate at which Walter was driving him crazy seemed to be increasing exponentially on a daily basis.

The buzzing of his cell phone drew him from his speculations. Checking the display, he didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?" he asked hesitantly, unsure who could be calling him.

"Peter? Is that you? This is Dr. Walter Bishop." came Walter's confused voice.

"Yes, Walter it's me, and you don't need to tell me who you are." Peter said deadpan. Flipping his notebook into the passenger seat, he pulled the wagon away from the curb and started back towards Cambridge. "Who else would be answering my phone?" he asked rhetorically.

"Where have you been all day, son?" his father complained.

"I already told you, I was visiting some old friends." Peter said, holding the phone up to his ear with his shoulder as he muscled the car around a tight corner. "Wait, whose phone are you using?"

"It's that young lady's, the one with the dark curly hair."

"You mean Astrid?" His eyes rolled involuntarily at Walter's obtuseness. "Did you actually want something, Walter?" he asked after there was no response from his father.

"Oh…yes, Agent Dunham was here earlier." Walter said brokenly. He could hear him chewing on something.

"Olivia was there?" Peter said sharply. "Does she need us?"

"She inquired where you were." Walter notified him, for once without any innuendo.

"Do we have a case, Walter?" Peter asked impatiently. Then before he could help himself, he added, "What did you tell her?"

"I told her you'd been gone all day, which you have." Walter replied testily. "And no, we do not not have a case." he said, finally answering Peter's question.

"Then what do you want, Walter?" Peter asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

"Oh yes…," his father tittered excitedly. "I wanted you to pick me up a cherry slurpee, and it's important that it remain as cold as possible. Do you have any dry ice?

"You want a cherry slurpee? That's why you called?" Peter shook his head in irritation, his teeth grinding loudly in his ears. Of _course_ it would be something like that.

"Yes, I've been wanting to test a theory of mine on _sphenopalatine ganglioneuralgia_. As you know, I've been in St. Claire's for the last seventeen-"

"I get it, and no I don't have any dry ice." he said, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I'm on my way back to the lab now. Is Olivia still there?" He kind of hoped she wasn't. She seemed to be able to read him like a book, and he would definitely have to lie about what he'd been doing as he was certain she would not approve.

"She left quite a while ago, son. I'm sorry." Walter replied sadly.

"What? You're sorry? You know what...nevermind. I gotta go Walter." He ended the call before his father could respond, tossing the phone on the seat next to him. Pulling into the next 7-Eleven he saw, he purchased a cherry slurpee. If his father wanted to do research on brain-freezes, who was he to stop him?

* * *

**Olivia** looked through her hangers, trying to decide what would be appropriate to wear to the funeral the next day. Did people expect her to wear black? Or wear a dress? Maybe a skirt? She poked at her feelings for John, not quite daring enough to pry open the little box she'd shoved them into after his betrayal. Mostly, all she felt was bitterness and shame at the moment. She wasn't sure she was capable of acting like the grieving partner, much less a lover. Practicality won in the end; her usual pants suit and shirt it would be, as she still had to work the rest of the day.

As she pulled out a pair of dark slacks and a white blouse, a worrying thought struck her. John's mother would be obviously there, and she wasn't sure what John had told her about the two of them. Olivia paused in her motion, picturing how a meeting between the two of them might go. It would be awkward at best, and if he'd told her about them, an utter nightmare. Hanging the clothes on a hook in her bathroom, she decided that just avoiding her all together was probably for the best, for both of them.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she turned to leave, she paused, examining her face. Leaning close over her vanity, Olivia studied the stress lines around her eyes, and the bags that seemed to be forming under them now as well.

The upcoming funeral had been in the back of her mind for the last few days, a source of constant anxiety. She'd even fled the office earlier that day after over hearing other agents talking about it over the cubicle wall. They'd obviously been unaware she was on the other side, from the things they were saying. Clearly, Charlie's instructions to wait before passing judgment on John Scott were being ignored.

Olivia had ended up at the lab, hoping a change of scenery would provide some distraction, and she could also check up on the Bishops, or the younger Bishop at least. She hadn't spoken to Peter again after his flare-up in the lab over the waiver documents, other than the several texts they'd exchanged that night. He had apologized at least, though she would rather he'd just called her, as texting apologies seemed rather insincere in her book. But then again, she had waited hours before replying to his initial _Hey, _on purpose, so maybe he would have if she'd answered promptly.

She'd walked in the lab to find Walter and Astrid sitting on the bench in front of Gene, eating popcorn and watching cartoons of all things, and Peter nowhere to be seen. Olivia smiled to herself faintly at the memory. The junior agent had been mortified at being caught slacking off with Walter and had practically flown to her workstation, face aflame, trying to make herself look busy, much to Olivia's secret amusement.

Trying to get some of her paperwork done had proven just as useless at the lab as it had been at the federal building. Her mind had kept wandering to Peter's whereabouts until she'd finally broken down and asked his father, only to learn he'd been gone all day. Visiting old friends, Walter had said. Olivia supposed that made sense, he'd grown up in Boston after all, unlike her. He probably had friends everywhere, with the places he'd been and his personality.

The sudden ringing of her house phone in the other room drew her attention away from her introspection on the enigma that was Peter Bishop. Moving out through the french doors of her bedroom, Olivia grabbed the phone off its charger on her end table before her answering machine could intervene.

"Hello?" She propped the phone on her shoulder as she moved into her kitchen, with the intention of finding something to nibble on for dinner.

"Liv? It's me." It was her sister Rachel's voice.

"Hey Rach!" Olivia smiled, glad to finally catch up with her younger sister. She opened her pantry, scanning the barren shelves for anything that looked tempting. "God, it's been forever! How are you and Ella doing?" She grabbed a bottle of red wine off the top shelf.

"We're…doing good." There was a slight hesitation as she spoke that made Olivia narrow her eyes. She knew what that tone meant. Before she could comment on it, Rachel went on. "What's going on with you? Why haven't you been returning my calls?"

"Well…you know, it's been…kinda crazy at work." she replied haltingly. "I've been really busy." She set the wine down on her countertop, and removed a loaf of bread from her bread drawer. After checking it for mold, she took two slices and grabbed some butter and sliced cheese from her refrigerator.

"You know you say that every time, right?" Rachel said with a laugh. Olivia heard another voice in the background. "Ella, in a little bit. I'll let you know when I'm done." she heard her sister say away from the phone, then she was back on the line. "So Liv, what's new with you? Got anything juicy?"

Olivia grunted as she assembled her grilled cheese sandwich. "Juicy? No." Having her boyfriend and partner try to kill her didn't exactly fall into that category. "Rach, do you remember me telling you about John?"

"Your partner John?" Rachel replied in an excited voice. "How could I forget him? The picture you showed me of him was…well you know. He's hot."

Olivia closed her eyes momentarily as a burst of pain escaped from its confines. She struggled with it for a few seconds, before forcing it away from her.

"Liv?" Rachel asked, after there was no reply from her. "What's wrong?"

Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose, where tears were threatening. She'd thought she was past this. She was not going to start this again. "John...he died." she managed to say after a moment.

"Oh my god..." Rachel said slowly, shocked at the news. "I'm so sorry. I...I didn't know. I wouldn't have said that-"

"Don't worry about it." Olivia shrugged, reaching for a small frying pan and placing it on a burner. "There was no way you could have." Twisting the dial on the face of her stove, she watched the blue flames spring up under the pan.

"So...what happened?" her sister asked tentatively. "Did it happen in the line of duty...or whatever?"

_Line of duty?_ Olivia found herself wanting to laugh hysterically, or start weeping again, but managed to hold both back. "Uh...no. It was a car accident." she explained, trying to keep a kernel of truth in her story.

"That's terrible." Rachel said, sounding like she might start crying herself. "How are you doing? Are you okay?"

She placed her sandwich on the hot pan, listening to the butter sizzle before replying. "It was...a...hard couple of days. But I'm doing fine now. Really."

"Are you sure?" Her sister sounded dubious.

"Yeah." Olivia said curtly. "I have some other news, good news this time." she said, changing the subject. "I got a promotion." She flipped her sandwich, the fresh butter causing a slight drift of smoke upwards from the pan.

"Really? That's...great." There was still some doubt in her voice, but it disappeared as she continued. "Can you tell me anything about it?" Her sister knew Olivia rarely could tell her anything about her job, but she always asked anyway.

"I can tell you that it's important. That's about all I can say, unfortunately." Olivia grabbed a corkscrew from one of her drawers, and turned to the wine bottle. She thought about mentioning the Bishops, but decided not to, as Rachel would undoubtedly question her closely about Peter. She always asked about the men Olivia worked with, and she didn't want the twenty questions right now. "Now...how are things with you and Greg?" she asked, keeping her voice casual as she uncorked the wine.

"We're doing okay." Rachel replied, her voice suspiciously cheerful.

"And?" Olivia turned back to her sandwich, removing it from the heat and placing it on a napkin. "What are you not telling me, Rach?" she asked knowingly.

"Liv!" Rachel protested. "Why do you think I'm not..." her voice trailed off and Olivia thought she heard a door close. "Alright...we're seeing a counselor." she said in a low voice.

"A marriage counselor?" Olivia was surprised to hear this. They had talked about it before, and Rachel had said her husband had flat-out refused to see one. "How'd you pull that off?"

"It was actually his idea!" Rachel whispered happily.

"Really?" Olivia found it hard to get too excited by the turn of events. There had always been something off about Greg, and frankly, she'd never understood what her sister saw in the guy.

"Yeah. I told you he would come around." her sister said with a lofty tone.

"I'm happy for you, Rach." she acknowledged, pouring herself a glass of wine. "I really hope you two work it out, for Ella's sake if nothing else." Olivia took a bite of her grilled cheese, hurriedly catching a dollop of gooey yellow cheese that tried to make its way to her floor. "And speaking of Ella, how is the little munchkin?"

Rachel giggled, "Becoming a little person. She's getting so big, Liv. You won't even recognize her when you see her next. And the things she says, I swear it's like she's been reading a dictionary for fun."

Olivia grinned, picturing her little niece's face. It had been a while since she'd seen them. "You two should come visit me sometime. I have a spare room, you know. You could stay as long as you want."

"That would be great." Rachel agreed. "Ella's been asking about you, wanting to know when we can go see her Aunt Liv." Olivia heard her leave whatever room she'd been hiding out in, and then Ella's voice almost at once. "And now she's right here. She wants to talk to you."

"Hi Aunt Liv!" Ella's exuberant voice came loudly through the phone.

"Hey baby girl! How are you?"

"I'm doing just fabulous, Aunt Liv!" Ella cried.

"You're doing fabulous?" Olivia laughed out loud. "How old are you now? That's a big word for a four-year old."

"Um...Aunt Liv? I'm four and a half now." the little girl informed her, obviously very disappointed in her.

"Oh, my mistake." she apologized to the serious little girl. "Now how can I make it up to you? Hmm...how about you and your mother come and stay with me for a while?"

"You mean it?" came the hopeful reply from Ella.

"Of course, baby girl. I'd love it if you visited." Olivia said warmly, meaning every word.

"Yay!" Olivia heard her squealing. "Mommy! Aunt Liv said I was four, and then she said we have to come visit her!" She could hear her niece running with the phone in hand to her mother, and then a man's voice loudly the background.

"Liv?" Rachel was back on the line. "What was that?"

"Sorry." Olivia winced, hoping her niece wasn't in any trouble. "I may have mentioned something about the two of you visiting me."

Her sister sighed. "Yes, that would do it. Look, we probably won't be able to get up there for a couple of months, will that still work for you?"

"Rach, anytime." Olivia told her. "My door is always open. You know that, right?"

"I know." Rachel replied. "Hey, I gotta the little terror ready for bed. You take care of yourself."

"I will."

"Oh, and you still owe me a return phone call. Bye, Liv."

"Bye, Rach." She ended the call, setting the phone down on the countertop next to her.

Olivia quickly finished her sandwich, taking the bottle of wine and her glass with her into the living room and settling herself on the couch. Her cell phone, lying on the coffee table was silent, with no new messages or texts to report. Sipping at her wine, she thought the silence in her apartment seemed particularly deafening that night, even more so than usual.

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**I'd like to thank everyone who has left a review so far. I really appreciate reading them. Next chapter is start of 1x03. Cheers.**


	22. Chapter 21 - 1x03 The Ghost Network

**Chapter 21**

**.**

**-The Courtyard Hotel**

**Peter **woke from the persistent tapping on his shoulder, his eyes blinked rapidly as they became accustomed to the bright light of their hotel room. He rolled over onto his back to find Walter bent over him, naked in all his glory. He quickly averted his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Goddamnit Walter!" he said, trying to keep his temper. "I've already told you that I hate it when you do that."

"Ahh, son. You're finally awake." His father said, pushing off the couch and moving across the room to their small table and taking a seat. "It's Tuesday." he added as if that explained his nakedness.

Peter sat up on the couch, wiping the sleep from his eyes and then running his hands through his hair. "I don't care what day it is," he said. "Don't do that again."

"Don't be such a ninny, Peter." Walter said, turning his lips down. "It's perfectly natural." He had an open newspaper on the table, which he turned his attention to, running his finger down the page.

"Natural or not," Peter said getting to his feet. "It's not even remotely close to the first thing I want to see when I wake up in the morning." He hobbled toward the bathroom, still feeling half asleep and intending to take a long, hot shower.

"Oh Peter!"

He turned back to his father, seeing the hopeful look on his face from across the room.

"I…I have quite the day planned for us, son…" his voice trembled, and he looked down at his paper. "That is…if you still want to go."

Peter nodded his head, remembering their conversation from the night before. Walter had seen an article in the paper about the Boston Museum of Science and how it was renovated several times since he'd been in St. Claire's, and he wanted to check out the new additions. "Yeah, I remember something about that." he yawned and scratched at the stubble on his cheek. "Lemme take a shower first, Walter."

The shower was the one thing Peter liked about their hotel room; it's water pressure was unparalleled in his opinion. Which was saying something, because he'd stayed in a lot of hotels during his travels. He thought it was probably the particular head installed that made the difference. It was ancient, and unlike modern shower heads which gave the appearance of high pressure by using smaller diameter jets, this one made no attempt to save any water, just a full bore blast of blazing hot, water wasting goodness. The last room they'd had, before it became clear that their stay would be more long term, had one of the modern types. He turned in a circle, rotating in the middle of the stream for another minute or two, his chin up and eyes closed, then turned the water off and stepped out.

After he was dressed and teeth brushed, he exited the bathroom, thankful to see that Walter was finally dressed, wearing a pair slacks and a blue and gray plaid flannel shirt. His father looked up anxiously from his newspaper as he entered the room. Peter crossed over to their small kitchenette and poured himself a cup of coffee, adding his usual amount of creamer and taking a sip before he turned to his father.

"So… What's the plan for the day?" Peter said leaning back against the countertop. He smiled uneasily at the broad grin that appeared on his father's face at his words. It reminded him that he still wasn't quite sure about all this, from living with his father to working for the FBI. Those things tied strings to him, emotional strings, but strings all the same. And the longer he stayed, the harder they would be to break, if he decided he had to do so. He'd always felt the need to leave himself a back door, a way out in case things…went sour, as they tended to do sometimes. Emotional attachments always made that a thousand times harder, and he could feel one growing between them, a tenuous thing, gossamer strands flickering between ignition and being cut altogether, depending on the day. For there was one truth he couldn't deny; that it felt good to be among family again, even if it was Walter.

"This." Walter jabbed his finger at an article in the paper he'd been reading. "The projector at the Charles Hayden Planetarium. It was replaced with the Mark IX model in 1997." Peter wasn't sure if he'd ever seen such enthusiasm on Walter's face.

He spun the newspaper around on the table to face him and leaned over it, resting his weight on both hands. Scanning the article in question, he came to the section Walter was excited about. The projector had indeed been upgraded in 1997. "So what's so special about this projector?" he said. He remembered going to the Planetarium on several occasions, on several middle school field trips, once on a date that ended disastrously.

"It replaced the Mark VI!" Walter said, his hands gesticulating in front of him. "When they upgraded to the Mark VI in 1973, it was all Belly would talk about for weeks!" He curled his pointer finger in front of his lips, tapping it against them lightly. "You know…we used to trip and go see the light show, every Sunday night.

Unsurprisingly, the thought of his father and William fucking Bell tripping out in a planetarium light show, didn't really shock him like he would have thought a month ago. "Is that a fact?" He straightened his back, crossing his arms in across his chest.

"Oh yes." Walter nodded energetically. "You used to love going there with me too, when you were a boy."

"Me?" Peter said, pointing to himself. "Walter, I've never been there with you." He definitely remembered see the light show when he was in fifth or sixth grade, and thinking it was coolest thing he'd ever seen, but he was positive he'd never been there before that, and never with his father.

"Of course you have, son!" he exclaimed. "You spilled your soda all over yourself when the Big Bang…banged." He jerked his hand upwards in mock-surprise. "You were very upset."

Peter thought for a moment, trying to summon any fragments of memory that sounded anything like that. He shook his head "I don't think that was me." he said after a moment of recollection. "I don't remember ever going there with you."

"Really?" Walter frowned, sitting up straight in his chair. "Then who am I thinking of?"

"I'm not sure how you expect me to know that." he said, taking a swig of coffee as he crossed the room and sat down on the couch. He set his cup down on the coffee table and reached under it for his shoes.

"Are we going then?"

Glancing over at Walter as he tied his shoes, Peter saw that he was chomping at the bit. He stood rubbing his hands together, his shoulders bouncing in anticipation.

Peter finished the double-knot and stood. "Yes, Walter we're going." he said, grabbing his coat off the chair where he'd dropped it the night before. "Let's check out this projector."

Walter pumped his fist. "Yes!"

.

Watching the show from his reclined seat in the Charles Hayden Planetarium, Peter had to admit that his father was right. It must have been before the projector upgrade when he was there last, years ago. The technology behind it was impressively spectacular. It was a huge charcoal colored globe, covered with different sized lenses, and looked almost menacing, sitting on its stand amongst the rows of seats.

The place was crowded, the seating filled with tourists and locals alike, as many of the historical sites in Boston tended to be. The two of them had almost had to sit separately, but had managed to find to seats together near the back just as the show started.

There were gasps from children and adults alike throughout the room as the view zoomed in and out on stars and nebulae, with the narrator describing the passage of time and its effect on the celestial bodies seen from Earth. It was very well done, and Peter found he was enjoying himself immensely. Near the end of the show, the view zoomed out again, going farther and farther back in time, until the moment when the Big Bang finally exploded on the screen.

He heard a young child's voice several rows away to his right cry out, and was glancing in the direction of the sound when it happened. A person near the end of the row he was in had been looking in his direction. They had jerked their face away and leaned back in their seat when they'd seen Peter start his motion, but had been a tad slow.

Peter had just caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He continued his motion in that direction, not wanting to alert his watcher that he'd seen him. It was a man, maybe late thirties, early forties, it was hard to tell in the dim light. He was lucky the Big Bang had just happened on screen, or it would have been too dark to see him. Forcing himself to look away, he lost all interest in what was happening on the overhead screen. On his left, Walter was happily munching away on some popcorn, his face rapt as he enjoyed his light show, oblivious to the intensity Peter felt like he must be radiating.

Letting himself relax in his seat, his eyes darted around the room, looking for anyone else out of place that he could see from his reclined position. It was not a good seat for surveillance, which was why it had been easy to spot the guy. It required him to sit up to see much of anything beyond his immediate right or left. _This is not good_, he thought as he waited for the show to end.

When it finally did end, Peter and Walter stayed in their seats, letting the rest of the room empty out ahead of them. The man he thought had been watching him was lost in the crowd of people, but had definitely gone out the door on the far side of the room; the one closest to them had been in his view the entire time.

"What did do you think, Peter? …Son?" he heard Walter say. Glancing at him, Peter realized that his father been speaking for some time, but he hadn't heard a word.

"It was very neat, Walter." he said, trying to keep his eyes on both exits at the same time. "You were right." He got to his feet, intending to head to the exit nearest them. "Let's go. Maybe we can catch the next IMAX before it starts." He started down the aisle, glancing over his shoulder to make sure his father followed, and to keep his eye on the other door. It stayed closed.

Once they were in the lobby, Peter pulled on his coat, hoping that the other man hadn't seen him in it before, and might throw him off at a glance. Looking around, he saw no sign of their would be pursuer. Just mothers and fathers with their children, looking at the exhibits and enjoying their visit. Still, he thought it would be a good idea to stay out of sight for a bit longer, so he purchased the tickets for the next showing in the IMAX theater from the ticket booth.

"Which show is playing, Peter?" Walter asked eagerly as they moved towards the entrance to the theater.

Peter glanced down at the tickets in his hand. He hadn't even payed attention the show name. "It's called _The Alps_." he said, casting a subtle glance back over his shoulder. "I have no idea what it's about, I'm assuming the mountains." he added absently. Still no sign of anyone following. Maybe he'd been mistaken, after all.

There was a pair of restrooms ahead, set in an alcove near the entrance to the theater. He guided his father in that direction. "Why don't we take restroom break?" He looked like he could use one from the way he was walking.

"Oh yes, that would be lovely." he replied gratefully. "I've been holding it for quite a while."

Peter pushed open the door to the restroom, holding it open for his father to follow, and letting it swing closed behind him. The restroom was empty, and he turned the nearest urinal, while Walter entered one of stalls at the back.

"This could take a while, son." his voice came over the partition wall.

"Too much information, Walter." Peter called back to him, quickly taking care of business. He washed his hands, staring at himself in the mirror for a moment after he was done, trying to ignore the sounds his father was making. In retrospect, it may have been foolish to seek Eddie out, he admitted to himself, even if the guy in the planetarium hadn't been watching him.

"I'm gonna wait for you outside." he said distastefully, walking to the exit as his father's struggles grew more intense.

Peter pulled the door open, and was about to step out when he saw the watcher from the planetarium across the lobby at the ticket booth. He stepped back, letting the door close almost all the way, then held it open just enough so he could look through a hairline crack. _Fuck!_ The woman in the ticket booth was pointing in the direction of the theater.

He watched through the narrow crack as the man purchased a ticket and started in their direction. Peter got a good look at him as he drew near. The man's face wasn't familiar to him. He had dark wavy hair, that was a bit on the long side, with droopy cheeks and a full goatee. There was a camera with a telescopic lens hanging on a strap around his neck. Looking around the lobby, the man's eyes passed over the restroom doors as he neared the entrance, but he passed by without stopping and entered the theater.

Peter exhaled a slow sigh, letting the door close all the way. He turned intending to go check on Walter, only to find him standing behind him, a curious expression on his face.

"Whatever are you doing, son?"

"I…uh thought I saw someone I knew." he said, his thoughts racing. "An old girlfriend…but it wasn't her." He pulled the door open, searching around the lobby for the man before stepping out when he was nowhere to be seen.

"You know, Walter." he said pulling his father aside as he started for the door to the theater. "On second thought, I'm feeling kinda hungry. I'm thinking we skip the IMAX and just go get lunch, your pick."

His father seemed uncertain, looking down at the tickets still in Peter's hand. "But son…we already have the tickets and-"

"They were cheap. C'mon, let's go." Peter said, putting his arm around Walter's shoulders and guiding him through the crowd of people milling about in between them and the way outside. He was aware that he was acting oddly, but they were wasting too much time debating. They had to get out of there now, before the man with the camera decided they hadn't gone in the theater, and returned.

* * *

**Olivia** watched impassively through the window as his family entered the cemetery in the traditional procession of somber black limousines following the hearse. The lead vehicle stopped at the round-a-bout, leaving enough room for the pallbearers to unload his casket from the back of the elegant vehicle without difficulty. Then the rest of the cars in the procession came to a stop, their passengers exiting and making their way slowly forward almost to the front of the line, but leaving enough room for the grieving immediate family to have some privacy.

She recognized John's mother at once, a stately woman with textured layers of short hair, not quite ready to go gray. John had shown her a picture of her once, what now seemed like centuries ago, though it had been less than a year. His mother was followed by a younger woman, Olivia assumed it was John's younger sister, from the way he had described her. The family watched in silence as the casket was unloaded and the men shouldered the heavy burden into the cemetery proper. When the funeral director indicated all was ready, the family followed in their footsteps, and the rest of the procession kept pace with them a short distance behind.

Olivia glanced over at Charlie, seeing the concerned look on his face.

"You ready?" he asked, nodding towards the line of people shuffling past his car.

She shrugged a reply. _Was she ready?_ "Yep. Let's get this over with." Reaching for the door handle, she about to open the door and get out when Charlie stopped her with a hand on her arm. Glancing down at his hand then up to his face, "What?" she asked, with more force than she'd intended.

"Liv…what you went through…" he said slowly, pulling his hand away. "It's okay grieve today, you know?" His brown eyes were sympathetic, but Olivia wasn't interested in sympathy.

_Grieve? There would be no grieving today. Not for him._ Olivia shook her head. "Charlie…I…" She paused, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, not really sure what she was trying to say. Flinging her hand in front of her haphazardly, she settled on the truth. "He tried to kill me, Charlie." she said simply, then opened the door and got out. Charlie climbed out after her, a grim look on his face, and joined her in the procession.

Following the herd of people, Olivia stifled back a yawn, feeling tired all of the sudden. She had woken up on her couch past three in the morning, a half empty glass of wine still in her hand, which she'd miraculously avoided spilling in her confusion. Relocating to her bed had proven futile, as she had just ended up lying there awake until morning, watching her alarm clock countdown the minutes until the funeral. She had just lied there thinking about how she wanted it to be over with, so she then could move on with her life and forget he ever existed.

When they came across fellow agents who had known John from the Bureau, she fell back, letting Charlie and others take the lead across the grass towards the site that had been selected by the Scott family. Mount Briar Cemetery was old, as most cemeteries around Boston tended to be, but well maintained, with the most ornate of the headstones surrounded by black metal fences topped with pointed finials. Tall oak and maple trees dotted the landscape, offering some shade for mourners visiting loved ones, not that shade was needed on this day. It was overcast, with gray clouds blanketing the sky, though the sun would peek through occasionally, bathing the cemetery in a warm glow that would disappear as suddenly as it came.

At the grave site, a row of chairs had been set up for the family in front of the casket next to a poster sized picture of John on a stand, along with a wreath of white and red roses, interspersed with white lilies. The casket itself was draped in the American flag, as was typical for military funerals. Two marines in their dress blues stood at attention next to the picture of John, their hands clasped behind their backs as they waited expressionlessly for the ceremony to begin. At the head of the casket stood a priest in a black cassock, a violet stole draped over his shoulders watching patiently as everyone arrived and took their places.

Olivia stepped up next to Charlie and the other agents in line opposite the casket from where the family was seated as the priest began his monologue. She met his eyes briefly, looking away in annoyance at the concern she saw again there. She was fine, she'd dealt with worse things than this in her life, just ask her nine year old self. Her stepfather's parting gift to her after all had been a thick skin, and it had only grown thicker with age.

_The souls of the just are in the hand of God. And no torment shall touch them. They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead, and their passing away was thought an affliction. And their going forth from us, utter destruction. But they are in peace. For if to others…_

After a few minutes, Olivia tuned the priest out, thinking about how John had never been overly religious, but had told her once about his mother's faith. She looked over at his mother, and was shocked to see that the woman was staring straight at her, an indecipherable look on her face. She had John's blue eyes, or rather, Olivia saw where he'd gotten his from.

She looked away quickly, not sure how to react and focused on the priest again_. Why the hell is she looking at me? As if I'm the one to blame for this._ Olivia felt her temper beginning to rise, and she ground her teeth as she glanced again at the picture of John. He seemed to be looking straight at her, just like his mother had been. She had an irrational urge to draw her weapon and put a bullet between his eyes, right here in the middle of the funeral, and damn the consequences. The urge was harder than it should have been to contain, which made her even angrier. Gripping her leg tightly, she squeezed her nails of her right hand through the fabric of her pants, digging them into her flesh until the pain became intolerable. Then she swallowed, and took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down.

As the ceremony drew to a close, Olivia let her eyes wander back to Mrs. Scott. A man she hadn't noticed before had begun playing _Amazing Grace_ on his bagpipes as the marines removed the flag from the casket, and folded it for presentation to the next of kin. They moved in front of John's mother, blocking Olivia's view of her. The one carrying the flag folded stiffly at the waist, placing it in her arms. He straightened, then saluted her and turned on his heels, marching rigidly back to his place near the photograph. The marine obscuring her view moved, and she saw that his mother's accusing eyes were on locked on her face again.

Olivia looked away at first, but then stiffened her spine and met the other woman's gaze head on. Why should she be the one to look away? She had done nothing but love her son, he was dead through his own despicable choices and actions. So she returned the stare, not caring that she probably looked more pissed off at being there than sad. Eventually Mrs. Scott dropped her eyes to the flag in her hands, and did not look Olivia's way again.

The instant the funeral was over, she turned and stalked quickly away from the crowd of people, following through on her plan to have no contact with John's family. It seemed likely that he had told his mother something about the two of them, judging by what had just happened. Dodging among the rows of headstones, Olivia was half the way back to the main drive when she heard Charlie behind her.

"Liv!" she heard his footsteps in the grass at her heels, and she slowed her pace, allowing him to catch up. He matched her pace, not speaking at first. "You know, you being here, Livvy…you did the right thing to come." He said finally, looking at her sideways as they walked.

"Yeah…the right thing." Olivia smirked. "The man betrays his country, turning over state secrets to…God knows who. And here we are, pretending that he's some kind of hero. What's wrong with this picture, Charlie?" she vented, throwing her hands out in frustration.

"I know. It's…not okay, but-." he admitted, coming to stop and turning to her.

She started to protest, shaking her head at his sanctioning of this farce. "C'mon-" she cut him off, not wanting to hear it.

"Stop." he interrupted her, holding up his hands in a calming manner. "Look…the Bureau's got one black eye as it is. The last thing we need right now is another espionage scandal, you know that Liv. You made it through. It's over now." he finished,

Olivia shrugged defiantly, looking away from him and still upset at the injustice of the situation. She saw that the crowd from the funeral was starting to disperse around them, their faces morose as they passed by. How many of them would be here if the truth had come out? Was getting her justice more important than the closure they were getting? The comfort they received from the honors he was given? Perhaps she was being a bit selfish here, but it had nothing to do with the Bureau's image.

With a sigh, she nodded her acceptance, knowing that he was right, though for different reasons than he'd said. Tucking her bangs behind her ears, she gave him an apologetic look. "Did you see John's mother? She wouldn't stop looking at me."

Charlie raised an eyebrow in question. "His mother?" He looked over her shoulder back towards the grave site, then back to her face.

"Yeah." Olivia said uncomfortably. "She…had this look on her face…like she was blaming me for what happened to him," She glanced around them, making sure no one was too close to overhear, before continuing in a lower voice. "like it was _my_ fault he was dead."

He shook his head in denial. "Liv, as far as John's mother knows, her son died a hero serving his country."

"Then why would she look at me like that?" she hissed.

"I don't know." Charlie said with a shrug. "I'm sure there's an explanation. Maybe he told her about you."

"A hero." Olivia said, her eyes lingered on the hearse where it was parked on the drive. "He used me, Charlie…and…he told me he loved me."

Charlie let out a breath, "Look, I wasn't going to tell you this, but…he said he loved me, too." he told her, keeping his face straight.

Olivia's eyes widened, staring at him in confusion for a moment as his words registered. The sudden laugh that bubbled up caught her off guard, and she covered her mouth, trying to stifle it down before it got out of hand. The gesture proved empty, as the laugh ended up coming out her nose instead in little blasts of air as her chest heaved.

Charlie's lips turned up at her reaction, looking pleased with himself for defusing her. He looked like he was about say something else, but was interrupted by deep voice coming from over his shoulder.

"Agent Dunham." Special Agent Phillip Broyles walked over to the two of them. "Agent Francis." he said giving Charlie a nod. Broyles caught Olivia's eye, "I need you to come with me." He waited expectantly for her to follow, hands on his hips.

Olivia glanced over at Charlie, who had stepped away from the two of them. "Thanks Charlie." she said fondly over her shoulder, stepping past him to follow her superior.

Broyles was silent as they made the short walk out of the cemetery. His shoulders were stiff and his bald head bobbed from side to side in front of her as they sidestepped around a weathered monument blocking their path to gated exit. She wondered if he ever relaxed, not that she was one to pass judgment. Relaxation had never come easy for her either, as her sister had been quick to remind her at every opportunity when they were younger.

His black sedan was parked under a sugar maple at the back of the line of cars. "So what have we got?" she said pulling the passenger door open and dropping into the seat next to him.

Broyles glanced in her direction as he started the car. His lips were thin and his dark eyes narrowed intently. "There's been an incident in one of the tunnels under The Charles."

"What kind of incident?" Olivia said grasping her seat belt over her right shoulder and clicking it into place.

"Not sure." he replied cryptically. "Preliminary reports mention a bus, and a possible chemical attack." He pulled the vehicle out on the main road, heading back in the direction of the Federal Building.

A shiver of uneasiness ran through Olivia, thinking of the disturbing images she'd retained from Flight 627. It was not an experience she was eager to repeat. "So why have we been called in?" she said. "It sounds like something for the CDC."

"It does." he agreed, but made no further comment on it. "You need to collect the Bishops. I'll meet you there."

Olivia checked the time on her watch. It was past noon, so getting hold of Peter shouldn't be an issue. "Will do." she said pulling out her phone.

* * *

**Peter** looked around the restaurant Walter had selected as they waited to be seated. It was a prototypical diner, with bar seating across from the cooking line at the front, and rows of booth seating against the exterior walls with several freestanding tables set in between. The place was mostly empty, with a few customers sitting at the bar and several more scattered at random tables. The little diner was sparsely decorated, with red shaded sconces set on the wall between each blind covered window, several of which appeared to be non-functional. After waiting several minutes, they were led one of the booths by a server wearing a red dress uniform with a white apron.

He slid into the booth opposite Walter. "Thanks." he said, smiling at their server, a petite young woman with dark hair pulled back into a pony tail, after ordering their drinks. "So what's good here Walter?" He picked up a menu and looked through the lunch section, thinking about getting a sandwich of some sort.

"I have no idea." Walter said grabbing his own menu and perusing it. "I've never eaten here before."

"You've never been here before?" Peter said. He looked over the top of the menu at his father. "Then why did we come here?"

"I said I've never eaten here before." his father replied. "Their iced tea however, is wonderful. Or it was, seventeen years ago."

"Of course." Peter said, shaking his head resignedly. "Cause that makes perfect sense." It shouldn't have surprised him that Walter would choose a place to eat based on the quality of the tea they served. He relaxed in his seat, thinking of Olivia. He hoped she was having a better day than he was, funeral and all.

"What are you getting, son?" Walter said. He put his menu down on the table and flipped it closed. "I'm thinking about pancakes, or a rueben."

"Well, I can tell you it's not gonna be a reuben." He replied, twisting his lips in disgust. Nothing on the menu looked particularly appetizing.

Their server returned shortly with a tray bearing their drinks and a coffee he'd ordered. She set them on the table, looking at Peter through her eyelashes. "Thanks." he said again, flashing her a toothy grin as she walked away.

Taking a swallow of his coffee, he noticed Walter pulling a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket. He unfolded it carefully and poured its contents, a white powder, into his iced tea. "You brought your own sweetener?" he asked, his cup raised as he was about to take another drink.

Walter glanced at up at him as he stirred the the powder in with a straw. "Don't be ridiculous." he scoffed. "It's my medication."

Peter blinked. "Your what? Your medication?" He shook his head and leaned forward on his elbows. "You're not on any medication, Walter."

"Of course I am." he replied, taking a sip of his tea and holding the straw to the side with his other hand. "I've been making it myself in the lab." He took another sip, longer this time. "What do you think I've been doing while you were out doing god knows what these last few days."

"Oh…I wish you were joking." Peter looked up at the ceiling. Why had this possibility never occurred to him before? He rubbed his hands down his face. "You're self-medicating…with homemade drugs." he said, stating the obvious.

"It's just a simple combination of dextromethorphan, clozapine, and some fluoxetine." Walter said, rolling his eyes.

"Walter, clozapine is a psychotic," he said, grabbing his father's hand before he could take another drink. "and the others, DXM, fluoextine? Should you be mixing all those?"

"Of course I should. That's the point." he said condescendingly. "I have been in a mental facility for the past seventeen years. It's put me quite out of balance." He tore his hand from Peter's grasp, taking another deliberate swallow of his drink.

Peter looked down at the table, knowing it was a lost cause. His father would do as he pleased, as he always did. He looked up, about to tell Walter exactly what he could do with his balance, when he noticed a man sitting on a bar stool at the front of the diner. His eyes bulged as he realized it was the man that had been watching him at the planetarium. Peter didn't know how it was possible, but somehow the motherfucker had followed them here. Keeping his eyes on the man, he rose from his seat.

"Stay here for a second, would you?" he told his father has he started to move down the aisle towards the man. He didn't appear to realize that Peter had noticed him yet.

"What if I need to use the bathroom?" Walter said as he passed.

Peter stopped, putting his hand on his father's shoulder. "Just hold it. I'll be right back." He removed his hand and and continued towards the man at bar.

He moved nonchalantly down the row of bar stools, letting no hint of recognition show on his face as he approached. When he was behind his target, he turned and grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning him around in his chair and pushing him backwards against the bar.

"Hey! What're you doing, man!" the stranger said as Peter pressed up against him, throwing his weight into him.

"What, you thought I didn't see you following me all morning?" Peter said in a low voice.

The man flinched away from him as Peter leaned in close to his face. He grabbed the man's camera with one hand, and clicked through the pictures he'd taken. They were of him and Walter, mostly in the Science Museum, and one outside on the sidewalk. Gritting his teeth, Peter removed the memory card from the camera, pocketing it.

"You were supposed to check in before you came home." The man said in an equally low voice. His eyes were wide with fear. "You know that."

"You told anyone yet?" Peter questioned, secretly dreading the answer.

The man swallowed and looked away, shaking his head. "No one."

"Good, cause if you tell anybody else that I'm here," Peter tightened his grip on the man's shoulder and neck, and moved his mouth in close to his ear. "you're the first one of the bunch I'm gonna come after." He whispered and let go of his shoulder. The man stretched his neck, then hurriedly grabbed his coat and walked out of the diner, without looking in Peter's direction again.

He watched him go for a moment, jaw clenched, wondering if he could trust him at all. When the man was out of sight, he turned and walked back to their table, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of the other patrons. Walter was holding his cell phone up as he sat down across from him. He grabbed it from him, checking to see if there had been a call or text.

"It was moving but I stopped it." Walter said, then after a moment curled his index finger in front of his lips, and closed his eyes. "There was something important." he muttered, then opened his eyes. "Oh…I've decided on the pancakes. Blueberry."

"That's great, Walter." Peter smirked, holding his phone up and giving it a shake. "Did somebody call me on the phone?"

"Oh…" his father giggled crazily, "That's what was important. It was something about a bus…" He stared at Peter for a moment, then looked away, no longer interested, and started examining the desert menu stuck in the wire mesh of the salt and pepper shaker holder.

Peter checked his phone, his breath caught at the sight of Olivia's number on the recent calls list. His thumb hovered over the callback button indecisively, then pressed down on it, and he listened for her voice to come on the line.

"Peter!" Olivia answered before the first ring finished.

He sat up straight, stretching his neck and rubbing at it with one hand. "Olivia. Did you call?"

"Yeah, we've got a case." By her voice, she was in full Agent Dunham mode. "Where are you?"

"We're at a little diner near Chinatown." he said, looking out the window to see what intersection they were at.

"Perfect, that's on the way." Olivia said, sounding relieved. "There's been an incident with a bus in the Callahan Tunnel. I'll pick you up, I'm ten minutes out."

Peter told her their location, agreeing to meet her outside, and ended the call. He looked at his father, who had the menu open again, apparently having changed his mind about the pancakes. He reached across the table and closed the menu. "Walter, it looks like you're gonna have to wait a little longer to try the food here."

* * *

**Olivia** could see the Bishops from a distance as she turned the corner onto the street the diner was located. Peter was leaning back against a street sign, hands in his pockets and staring down at his feet. Walter was standing on the edge of a brick planter set in the middle of the sidewalk, his outstretched arms see-sawing up and down as he circumnavigated the tree set inside the planter.

She accelerated toward the men, along the row of parked cars lining the both sides of the street. There was a smattering of pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalk, several of which she could see giving Walter odd looks as they passed him by, giving him a wide berth. The diner they'd been eating at looked more like a mobile home trailer than an actual building. It was a thin, rectangular structure, with metal paneling covering the bottom half of the building, beneath a row of grimy windows.

Olivia pulled over to the curb, giving a little honk as neither man seemed to realize she had arrived. Peter looked up at the sound, and there was a troubled look on his face which he tried to erase when he saw her staring at him through the passenger door window. Narrowing her eyes, she gave him a nod, which he returned and moved away from the street sign toward her SUV, calling to Walter as he did so. He pulled open the door, giving her an uneasy smile as he slid into the seat next to her.

"Hey." she said, looking Peter over curiously. The troubled look wasn't entirely gone from face as the smile had never quite reached his eyes. He was wearing a blue striped button down shirt under a blue jacket and dark blue jeans. His shirt was untucked and looked like it was in need of a good ironing. His normally well kept hair was unusually ruffled, with wisps of hair sticking up randomly. He looked out of sorts, which was not something she would normally associate with Peter. Something was going on with him, she decided.

"Hey yourself." Peter replied gingerly, avoiding eye contact with her. He buckled himself in, then rubbed at his temples before sliding one hand to the back of his neck, rubbing at it nervously.

Olivia realized that this was the first time they'd seen each other since she had ignored him in the hallway outside the lab. Maybe he thought she was still upset with him, but she wasn't one to carry a grudge. She thought she'd made that clear enough with their texts the other day. A_nother reason to never apologize to someone by text_, she thought to herself.

The smell of diner food assaulted her senses through the open door as Walter followed him, climbing into the back seat. "Agent Dunham!" he said as he situated himself behind them. "How are you on this fine Tuesday afternoon?"

"I'm good Walter." she said, pulling her vehicle out into traffic and heading north toward the Callahan Tunnel. "What were you two out doing today?"

"Peter took me to the see the new projector at the Hayden Planetarium!" Walter said, gripping the back of her seat in his excitement. "It was magnificent! Wasn't it Peter?"

Peter grunted in something in response she couldn't make out as he stared out the window. Then he turned and glanced back at his father, before shifting his gaze to her. "It was new eleven years ago in 1997," he explained dourly. "but since Walter was in the nuthouse then, this was his first chance to see it." He looked back at his father again. "And yes, it was pretty impressive."

Olivia nodded, keeping her eyes on the road ahead of her. They were still about five to ten minutes away from the tunnel, maybe more with all the traffic. She thought it was good to see Peter indulging Walter some, maybe they were starting to reconnect. Sensing Peter's gaze on her, she looked at him sideways. "What's up?" she asked.

He swallowed, then asked in a quiet voice, "How was the funeral?" There must have been surprise showing on her face at his knowledge of it. "Astrid told me the other day." he clarified for her.

She shook her head slightly, not looking at him. "Well…it was a funeral." she stated. "I'm just glad it's over with." Olivia added, turning her head to gauge his response. He looked like he might say something more, probably to ask her if she was okay. She hoped he wouldn't.

After a moment, he shrugged and said nothing else about it. He glanced back at his father and rolled his eyes. Through the rearview mirror, Olivia could see that had his eyes closed and was bobbing his head like he was listening to music.

"Don't ask." Pete said after she'd given him a questioning look. "You don't want to know, believe me." He pointed out the windshield ahead of them. "What's that?" Traffic was coming to a stop in front of them, brake lights flashing an angry red in the distance.

"I'm thinking that's our case." Olivia said, reaching down and flipping the toggles for the siren and interior lightbar. The wailing from the siren was loud, even inside the car. Walter was strangely unaffected by the noise, remaining still in the back seat, eyes still closed.

Peter smacked his hands on his knees and laughed, as the cars in front of them began to make way. "Aww…now that's excellent!" he said, a broad smile on his face. "You've gotta let me try that sometime!"

Olivia's lips upturned at his obvious delight, not surprised at all that he was getting a kick out of it. "We'll see." she said, glad to see his mood had improved.

"So…what do you know so far about this bus?" Peter asked when their destination came into view.

"Nothing good to report yet." she said. "Broyles couldn't really tell me anything definitive." Shrugging, she said. "Just a bus, and some kind of attack."

As they approached the entrance to the tunnel, Olivia could see a line of police cars and emergency vehicles blocking the road ahead of them. Inside the perimeter there were the typical black government vehicles parked near the concrete walls that let down into the tunnel. She pulled up to an officer who was manning a checkpoint for getting inside the line. Holding her badge out the window for him to inspect, he waved her through and she parked next to a dark sedan she recognized as Agent Broyles's.

The three of them exited the vehicle, and she led the Bishops through the throng of officers and emergency responders towards the dark opening of the tunnel ahead. Agent Broyles met them before they had gone far, his tan overcoat flapping on the wind behind him.

"Agent Dunham." he said with nod of his bald head. He turned the Bishops. "Dr. Bishop, Peter. This way."

He led them down into the tunnel, the light turning clinical as the overhead lighting of the tunnel system replaced the sunlight. The acrid odors of gasoline and engine oil permeated the air, causing Olivia to wrinkle her nose in discomfort. She glanced back at the Bishops, following behind her. Peter was squinting, trying to make out what was ahead, and his father was staring interestedly at the slightly convex bricked walls.

"So what do we know, sir?" Olivia asked of her superior. She could see a bus parked diagonally across the lanes coming into view.

"The incident occurred at 8:14 a.m." Broyles said. "Right in the middle of rush hour. First responders were worried it was bio-terrorism. Ghosts of the Sarin subway incident in Tokyo in 1995."

They came to a stop in front of the bus. Olivia could see that it was full of people, all of them standing or sitting perfectly still. The windshield of the bus was cloudy, with what almost looked like bubbles suspended unmoving in an unknown substance on the other side of the glass. The bus driver was frozen, turned toward the exit, his hand on the lever that pulled the bi-fold doors open or closed. Olivia realized the entire bus was full of the substance, trapping everyone inside.

"What the hell?" she heard Peter mutter behind her. Looking back at him, she commiserated with the shocked look on his face.

"They called in the C.D.C." Broyles continued, his face grim. "They confirmed the attack isn't biological in nature. There's no contagions."

"And you said there wasn't any good news." Peter said, his voice full of sarcasm.

Olivia shot him a look, trying to see if he was joking. He had an irritating habit of making jokes at the most inappropriate of times. He glanced at her then returned his gaze to the bus without any further comments.

Broyles turned to one of the agents standing by the bus, a dazed look on his face. "Excuse me." he said, getting the man's attention. "My team's coming in to transfer this bus to a secure area. I want you to extend the perimeter outside the tunnel another 50 yards." He pointed his index finger back towards the tunnel entrance.

"Yes Sir." the agent said, nodding his head and hurrying away.

Walter continued past them, coming to stand directly at the front of the bus. He stared into its interior, eyes wide. "It's horrible." he said softly. "They're like mosquitoes trapped in amber."

Olivia stared at all the victims, imagining how terrifying their deaths must have been. None of it made any sense. "If this was some sort of attack…" She gestured loosely with both hands. "Why not just use something conventional, like plastic explosives? A pipe bomb?" she asked the group, looking between Broyles and Peter.

"Impact." Peter replied confidently. "Whoever did this wanted attention. I mean, look at that." He threw a hand out toward the bus. "That's messed up."

"Or it's not an attack at all." Broyles said, looking back at Peter. "And it's something else entirely."

"Meaning what?" Olivia said, not liking the sound of that at all.

"If I knew the answer to that," Broyles said, "you wouldn't be here."

"I imagine that the material was released in gaseous form before solidification." Walter said suddenly from near the bus, where he'd been inspecting the substance up close. His hand was raised above towards the bus driver, punctuating his words. "I need to study it back in my lab. Can I have some?" he said, turning back to face them.

"We'll have to dig out their personal effects so we can I.D. them." Olivia swallowed a lump in her throat. "and notify their next of kin."

"Now that sounds like a lot of fun." Peter said, the sarcasm returning to his voice. "I assume you don't mean us." he added, looking at her hopefully.

"We'll get some people on it, once we have the bus moved to a secure location." Broyles said, ignoring Peter's outburst. He turned to Olivia. "You take the Bishops back to the lab, then meet Agent Francis at the impound facility." he instructed her. "I'll have someone send a sample when we have one, Dr. Bishop."

"Oh…I was hoping I could help with that." Walter replied tremulously. "It did sound fun, like you said, son." He looked eagerly back at the bus.

"Walter," Peter said, moving forward and guiding his father away with an arm around his shoulders. "Let's stick with what we know, okay?"

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**And here's the start of 1x03. The part with the projector was inspired by Ciderapples, Standby, my favorite Fringe fic. I hope everyone enjoys it. Thanks for reading. Leave me a review if you liked it. Thanks.**


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**.**

**-(secure location) Boston, Massachusetts **

**Olivia **had her ID ready for inspection as she waited to pass through the security check before entering the warehouse. The warehouse facility had been setup for the extraction of the passengers from the unknown substance that was released on the bus, and she was to meet up with Charlie and help identify the passengers and go through their belongings.

"Agent Olivia Dunham." she said, holding up her identification.

The stern-faced woman manning the checkpoint took it from her hand, glancing between her face and the picture several times before nodding, and waving her through with two twirling fingers. "Go on in Agent Dunham." the woman said, returning the ID to her outstretched hand.

"Thanks." Olivia said with a tight smile, pocketing the ID. She moved past the woman, wondering what her purpose was exactly. There was a checkpoint at the entrance to the facility that she'd already passed through when she'd pulled up in her SUV, leaving this woman's job redundant, in her opinion. _Whatever…it's not my problem, _she thought, putting the woman out of her mind and willing herself to focus on the task at hand.

Beyond the checkpoint was a lobby with a small office space, which must have once housed the administration and reception areas for whatever previous life this warehouse had before being conscripted into service by the Federal Government. At the back of the lobby, was a pair of doors propped open wide, through which Olivia could see a crowd of agents in their dark blue jackets, FBI printed in yellow across the back. They were all facing the same direction, watching something out of her view. The steady thrumming of a motor reached her as she passed through the doors and out into the main warehouse area.

The space that had been set up for the bus was in a huge rectangular area, with rows of square windows stacked on one another in a grid, on the far wall. There was a line of columns running down the middle of the room, from one end to the other. About a third of the concrete floor was covered in a yellow tarp, which she supposed was where the bodies would be placed once they were removed from the bus. Around the perimeter of the tarp, light stands were set up, as the interior lighting of the warehouse, and its dirty windows had obviously been deemed unfit for the task. The bus itself, the object of the crowd's attention, was at the far end of the space and parked diagonally just inside a large rolling door. The sound of a motor running was louder now, and she saw a group of men around the bus carrying tools of some sort with orange hoses trailing out behind them to a squat machine

"Liv!"

Olivia turned towards the voice, recognizing Charlie's familiar baritone. He was standing at the edge of the group of agents, motioning for her to join him. She stepped lightly across the yellow tarp, moving toward him on the other side.

"Hey, Charlie." she said, coming to stand beside him at the edge of the congregation of agents. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie with a light blue shirt, and clean shaven as usual. "What did I miss?" She nodded towards the bus.

"Nothing really." he replied, squinting his eyes at the other end of the warehouse. "Just some discussion on how they were gonna remove the victims." He pointed towards the machine making the racket. "Your Agent Broyles ended up arranging to borrow some equipment from the local fire department precinct. Decided it would be quickest to just cut away the outside of the bus."

"Is Broyles still here?" Olivia asked, looking around for her superior.

"Nope." Charlie said, raising his voice as the reverberation from the machine increased in intensity. "He just left before you got here." He grunted, "That guy gets things done. Before he got here, nobody was really sure what to do, but he just strolled in and made one phone call. The equipment was here in less than fifteen minutes." His tone was grudgingly respectful.

Olivia nodded, "I know what you mean." she said loudly, thinking of the phone call he'd made to Harvard about the use of the lab. It had been just one phone call then as well.

A sudden metallic tearing echoed throughout the interior of the warehouse, capturing her and Charlie's attention, as the workers around the bus started cutting away at the metal. The noise was high pitched, and Olivia winced in irritation at the sound as they watched the men work.

The cutting tools from the fire department made quick work of the bus, snipping and prying the metal away from the mysterious material encasing the passengers. The windows shattered as the cutting tool reached the frames, showering the concrete floor in shards of broken glass. When they were finally finished, the bus looked like nothing more than an open tin of sardines, sitting on edge. If Peter were there, she was certain he would have made the comparison, with the sardonic sense of humor he possessed. The thought brought an inappropriate grin to her lips, which she quickly smoothed off her face before Charlie noticed it had been there. They were staring at bus full of dead bodies after all.

The side they'd been working on was cut open to the roof, the metal bent and folded back on itself, exposing the interior. The solid gas, or whatever Walter had called it, had a yellowish coloring to it, though it was clear enough to see the passengers trapped within. The sight was ghastly, as most of them were still facing forwards in their seats, many with hands over their mouths, as if trying not to take a breath. Olivia made out a woman clutching a small form to her chest near the back of the bus, and at once felt horribly guilty about thinking Peter would have made light of the scene. He wasn't a monster, after all, far from it.

With the interior of the bus exposed, the crew turned shut down machine. The absence of the rhythmic thumping left Olivia feeling suddenly out of balance, like it had been a physical entity. In the silence, she could make out the whispers of the other agents nearby, most of them recoiling in horror at the sight before them.

There appeared to be some debate among the men about the best way to remove the bodies from the material. After a moment of discussion, a cart containing two upright cylindrical tanks and spool of coiled hose was pulled over to the bus. A man with a pair of welding goggles on his forehead stepped forward, twisting the valves on top of the tanks, and then igniting the cutting torch at the end of the coiled hose with a lighter. The flame that shot out was a bright yellow, and then reduced to a blinding blue pinprick as the man made adjustments on handle of the torch. He lowered the goggle over his eyes, and turned to the bus, holding it out before him.

The first passenger to be cut out was a woman who had been on the step leading down to the exit when the gas had solidified around her. Her hand was reaching forward, palm up, like she was pushing outward where the door had been. The smoke that the material emitted as the welder made his cuts was black, and smelled vaguely of burnt hair to Olivia, making her feel slightly nauseous as the smoke pervaded the warehouse.

As the welder completed his first pass on the left side of the woman, he moved around to the front of the bus, attempting to make his next pass intersect the first, cutting through metal and the amber-like substance alike. When he finished, several men with prybars stepped forward and levered the corner that had been cut away off the bus. It fell to the concrete floor with a dull thud, and then canted upwards at an angle on its uneven edges. The woman trapped inside was facedown, as if she were doing push-ups. After the awkwardly shaped section was moved out of the way, the man with the torch resumed his cutting, starting on the bus driver next.

They walked over to where the woman entombed in the material had been placed, awaiting removal. Olivia could see the woman's face clearly now, the horror evident on her features. Her mouth was open wide, and her eyes bulging as she must gagged on the substance while it filled her lungs.

"Man, that ain't right." Charlie said, shaking his head slowly, his lips drawn back in a disturbed frown as he looked down at the block of the amber substance.

"Tell me about." Olivia agreed, looking away from the grotesque sight, and thinking how terrifying it must have been for the woman as the gas solidified around her. She brushed her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Dr. Bishop said it was most likely released as a gas, then reacted with the air in some way."

"Where are the Bishops at, anyway?" he said, looking away from the woman and swallowing distastefully. "I would have thought they'd be with you."

"I dropped them off at the lab." she replied as they moved out of the way of several agents with power tools who had approached. "Speaking of which, I need to have some of this stuff sent to Dr. Bishop."

She turned to the younger agent that was working on the block. "I'll need a sample of that as soon as you have one."

"Yes ma'am." he replied, turning back to his task.

Olivia followed Charlie back to the tarped area, and leaned against a table, waiting for the first of the bodies to be brought over. The sounds of power tools being used and hammering filled the air. She gave Astrid a call, instructing her to come pick up the sample they would soon have, and then called security to inform them of the junior agents arrival.

"I just don't get it, Liv." Charlie said after a while, rubbing at his chin. "What purpose did this serve? It just seems so random."

Olivia shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe it was a test? Or a demonstration?" she offered, thinking of Flight 627. "Remember Richard Stieg? He released the toxin on the plane, just to prove that he could…that it worked." She crossed her arms under her breasts, hugging herself. "Peter thought it was someone making a statement, that they wanted the attention." she added as an afterthought.

Charlie arched an eyebrow at her. "He did, did he? And what does he know about things like that?" His voice was curious, but Olivia could hear the undercurrent of lingering distrust that Charlie still harbored for the younger Bishop.

Olivia rolled her eyes. "You know Charlie, if I didn't know better, I'd say you sound like you're jealous." Really, this thing he had with Peter, it was getting a little out of hand.

"Keep dreaming, Dunham." Her partner said, leaning his head back on his shoulders, his lips curled in a smirk. "Look, Peter's a nice enough guy, and he'd probably be blast go out drinking with. But watching my back? I dunno, Livvy."

Olivia gave him a thin smile. "Does your wife know you feel this way?" she asked concernedly. "Because you might have a problem on your hands."

Before he could reply to her badgering, the first body was brought over and laid out before them on the tarp. A thin layer of cracked and broken pieces of the material still clung to her skin and clothes like frosting.

The two of them exchanged glances and nodded. It was time to get down to business. Olivia bent over the corpse, trying to remove some the substance obscuring the woman's face.

* * *

**Peter** heard the outer door swing open and closed. He rose out of Olivia's chair and saw Astrid hurrying down the steps into the lab through the office window. She had a clear baggie in one hand, which he assumed was the sample they'd been waiting for. He vacated the office, meeting her at the counter where Walter was currently making tea over a Bunsen burner.

"Hey." he said coming to stand beside her.

"Here's your sample." she said, holding up the baggie for his inspection.

He took it from her outstretched hand, opened it and removed the large chunk of strange material. It looked like it had been drilled on and hit with a chisel, or something similar. It was also lighter than it looked.

"Walter." He said, looking over where his father was standing, eyes closed as he sampled the tea he'd just brewed. "Walter!" he repeated.

His father opened an eye, looking at him over the beaker he held in a pair of tongs. "Peter, this wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Try some?" He pushed the beaker in his direction.

"Uh…no. I'm fine." Peter said pushing the tea aside. "Agent Farnsworth is back with our sample." He held up the yellowish chunk in front of Walter's face.

"Ahh…the amber." Walter set the beaker down and took the piece from Peter's hand. He held it up to the light, then walked away towards his microscope sitting on a table on the other side of the lab.

Peter turned to Astrid, "What's going on with the bus?" he asked her as she sat down in front of her workstation.

"You don't want to know." Astrid said, her lips thin and pulled back in a look of disgust. "It was awful." She shook her head, the grimace still on her face.

"Try me." he replied, leaning up against the countertop. "How are they getting the passengers out?"

This was something he'd been thinking about while she was gone, trying to keep his mind off the memory card that was burning a hole in his pocket, and from wondering how long it would be before its owner spilled his guts. He must have been acting completely out of character for her to have called him on it like she had. He was getting rusty after only a few weeks among civilians.

"What's your favorite _Star Wars_?" she asked, cupping her chin in her palm.

"_Empire_, of course." Peter answered without having to think about it. He looked at her sideways, trying to figure out her angle.

She shook her head derisively. "I knew it would be _Empire_."

"Okay…so what does that have to do with…" He trailed off as he remembered one of his favorite scenes in that movie: Han Solo rising from the floor, encased in carbonite, his hands outstretched in front of him.

"Yeah, they cut them out with an acetylene torch." Astrid explained. "Into big blocks, then…just cut and smashed them out of it."

Peter was silent as he pictured the scene she was describing, the passengers trapped in a macabre real-life version of the carbonite. He was glad he was wasn't there to see it.

"So why'd you think _Empire_ would be my favorite?" he asked her curiously, not seeing how she possibly have known that.

"Please," Astrid snorted. "guys always like _Empire _the best."

A loud crash from the other side of the lab drew their attention before he could reply to that blatantly stereotypical statement. Walter was holding a hammer in one hand, raised above his shoulder, preparing for another blow.

"Walter, what are you doing?" Peter said, walking over to his father on the other side of the lab.

His father lowered the hammer. "I need a sliver of this for analysis, Peter." he said, raising the hammer again. "One small enough for my microscope." With that said, he brought the hammer down again, hitting the chunk of amber with a glancing blow, causing it to shoot off the table and onto the floor.

"Woah…Walter!" Peter said, grabbing the hammer by its wooden handle. "Why don't you let me do that." He gave a little tug, and his father let go, a smile growing on his face.

"Would you?" he said, "That would be lovely, son!"

Peter pulled on the white lab coat he'd been using the last few days and looked around for any other tools he could use. "Hey, where'd you get this hammer from?" He needed a chisel or something similar.

His father directed him to a flower pot sitting high up on a shelf. "Nice toolbox, Walter." he muttered to himself as he looked through the assortment of tools available. There were no chisels, but he found a heavy flat blade screw driver with a black and yellow handle that would suffice.

He retrieved the hunk of the substance from the floor where it still lay on the floor near the base of one of the lab tables and chipped off a sliver with the hammer and screw driver. From the look on his father's face when he handed him the sample, he got the feeling that he'd just been manipulated into helping him. _Oh, well…it wouldn't be the first time_, he thought dourly.

Walter placed the sample on a slide and slid it into place under microscope. He twisted the focus back and forth several times, his eyes glued to the eyepieces, humming some tune to himself. After a few minutes he pulled away, his eyes narrowed in thought. The he leaned back in, his head shaking slowly from side to side, as if he didn't like what he saw.

Peter rested his hands on the edge of the countertop as he watched his father work. It was still weird to be here with him, and on fairly good terms, at the moment at least. "Any idea what it is yet?" he asked after a time.

"It's tricky, very tricky." Walter murmured. "All I've been able to discern is that it starts as a silicon-based aerosol, and then it solidifies somehow." He looked up from the microscope. "You could be of assistance to me. I would love to hear some Bach. _Mass_ in A minor." he said, straightening up and reaching for a syringe of reddish liquid, which he placed a few drops of onto the slide. "Will you play it for me? I'm sure the young lady down there would get us a piano."

"That young lady is an FBI Agent, Walter." Peter replied, looking back at Astrid where she was bent over her computer. "Her name is Astrid, and this is the one-hundredth time you have forgotten her name. So, no." he said with a sharp shake of his head. "I don't think I can get you a piano."

Pushing the slide back into place under the microscope, his father glanced over at him. "You always resisted your lessons too." he said matter of factly. "Lack of commitment, son. It was always your problem. I Imagine that's why you still haven't chosen a profession."

Peter sighed, feeling annoyed. His father had been bringing this up more and more lately. "I suppose I should've followed in your footsteps." he said sardonically. "Cause your work has obviously brought _such_ joy to the world."

"Who was he, Peter?" Walter asked in a low voice.

"Sorry?" Peter replied, uncertain who he meant.

"The man in the restaurant." he said, looking utterly lucid. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

_Shit. How the hell did he… _It must have been that damn mirror. "It was nothing." Peter forced out a laugh, scratching under his nose with his index finger. "He was harassing the waitress…I just told him to cut it out."

"Oh, I see…" Walter looked down, then glanced back up at him, clearly not believing a word of it.

Peter swallowed, and then looked over his shoulder at Astrid. She was staring their way, her eyes shifting between them curiously. He pushed away from the countertop, crossing over to the lab table he'd claimed as his own and dropping onto his stool.

"I can look into getting a piano." she offered, rising out of her seat. "If you think it would help."

"Yes...yes, it would help." Walter said, hurrying over to her. "You see, music has always helped me organize my thoughts, young lady. Belly and I used to play for each other when we were chasing down a theory."

"You don't have to do that, Astrid." Peter told her. "He's fine." He hadn't played a piano in years, anyway.

"It's no problem." Astrid shrugged, "I'll see what I can do, Dr. Bishop." She pulled out her phone, walking away from them back toward the office.

.

Peter stared at the memory card as he flipped it over the knuckles of his left hand, going from finger to finger until it reached his pinky. He tucked it underneath to his palm and then back around to his index finger so he could start the process again. He'd been sitting at his lab table for the last hour or so, doing his best to ignore the looks Walter had been giving him from the other side of the jumble of test tubes and beakers he'd set up to run tests on the amber material, trying figure out how to recreate it. Astrid had made some phone calls in the office and then left the lab a little under an hour ago, so he was stuck there with his father.

"What, Walter?" he said after feeling his father looking at him again. He kept his eyes on the memory card for a moment longer before looking up.

Walter stepped out from behind the chemistry set. "You know, if… if you were in some kind trouble, son…" He rubbed his hands together as stepped closer hesitantly. "You could tell me about it…maybe I could-"

"Two things." Peter interrupted, snatching up the memory card and shoving it in his pocket. He held up a finger. "One, I'm not in any trouble." He added a second finger. "And two, even if I was, what could you do about it? When have I ever been able to depend on you for that kind of help, or for anything for that matter?"

His father seemed to deflate right in front of him, his shoulders sagging inwards and he stared down at his feet.

Peter closed his eyes and let a out slow breath. The stress from getting to him, and he was letting his emotions run his mouth again. He had to continually remind himself that this man was not the same man he'd been furious at for the last seventeen years. "Look, everything's fine, Walter." he said soothingly. "Just forget it, okay?"

Walter nodded and looked up at him, his lips turned up in a sad smile. Before he could say anything in response, the lab doors opened, announcing Astrid's return.

She was accompanied by two young men, struggling to get an old upright piano through the doors. Another followed after them, carrying the matching bench. Peter quickly moved over to help them carry the awkward instrument down the short flight of steps to main floor of the lab, and push it into position in a corner out of the way. Astrid thanked the two movers, slipping them each a bill Peter couldn't make out, and they left quickly, looking around the lab nervously.

When they were gone, Peter looked between her and the old upright. "Where did you get this piano, Astrid?" he said incredulously, running his fingers over its worn edges. Its dark stain was faded in the high traffic areas and its keys were more yellow than white. Several of the black ones looked like they had been glued back in place at some point. But it looked serviceable, if nothing else.

"A girls got to have some secrets." Astrid replied mysteriously with a wink. Then she gave him a hesitant look. "Is it okay? It was the best I could do on such short notice." She seemed doubtful that the old piano would be up to par.

Peter chuckled. "It looks fine. On the outside, at least." The inside could be another matter entirely, but he didn't want to comment on that without testing it first.

"Well, play something, Peter!" Walter urged, motioning for him to sit down at the bench.

Peter crossed his arms, staring down at the bench, thinking of the last time he'd played a piano. It had been for his mother. He'd returned from one of his walkabouts in Europe, and she had asked him to play for her on the baby grand they'd always had in one corner of their living room. She had always encouraged his adventures, as she called them, said he needed to see the world. Her eyes had been bloodshot, the ever present glass of whiskey in her hand, or maybe it had been wine. He'd played a piece by Chopin, a movement from _Sonata No. 3_, if he remembered right. She'd been in tears when he finished. That had been about a year before the end.

"Peter?"

He looked up at the sound of Astrid's voice. "Yeah." He blinked and shook his head, letting the memory slip away. He avoided looking at Walter as he sat down on the bench, sliding it forwards slightly underneath him.

Peter placed his right hand on the keys, and fingered a fast run in the C major scale, testing the piano's action. It was a little tight, something he might be able to fix at another time, depending on the cause.

Bringing his left hand to bear he played the opening notes to Bach's _Mass_ in A minor scale. He heard Walter inhale sharply behind him, and he glanced back over his should at him.

"You kept playing." his father said softly, his voice full of emotion. "After I… you kept playing."

* * *

**Olivia** moved among the rows of corpses, examining each of them in turn, hoping the Walter was having better luck finding any clues than she was. Astrid had already come and gone for Walter's sample, hours ago at this point. The victim's belongings were laid out at their feet as they were uncovered, but so far she'd found nothing of interest among them. The casualties from the attack were heartbreaking. The bus had been fully loaded with people of all ages, ranging from an infant to a man almost eighty years old.

Stepping over the corpse she'd just finished examining, a woman with dark hair wearing a tan overcoat, she moved to the next one in the row. She crouched over the body on one knee looking at it closely. It was a woman, or at least she thought it was, and she was holding something in her hands, close to her chest. Olivia moved in closer, chipping off some of the cracked pieces of surrounding her hands, trying to get a better look. It was a video camera, one of those small ones with a view finder which flipped out from the side, and it was still open. Her eyed widened and shiver of anticipation ran down her spine as she realized what it could mean.

"Excuse me," Olivia said to one of the forensic team bent over another corpse nearby. "Can you please extract this camera?" She pointed toward the dead woman's hands.

"Of course, Agent." the woman replied, getting to her feet and moving toward her.

Olivia stood, making room for her to work. She looked around the room for Charlie, and saw him talking to another of the forensic unit, gesturing down at the corpse on the floor in front of them.

"Hey, Charlie!" she called over to him.

He looked her direction, his eyebrows raised in question.

"I may have something." Olivia said, crooking two fingers at him.

He said something else to the tech, then walked over to her. "What have you got?"

"This one's got a video camera stuck in her hands." Olivia pointed at the corpse where the camera was being extracted. "It looks she was using it right before the attack."

Charlie nodded appreciatively. "Now what are the odds of that?" he said as the technician made quick work of her task.

"I guess it's your lucky day, sir" said the technician as she stood and handed Olivia a gray video camera, still partially covered in the material.

Olivia turned the camera over in her hands, looking for a memory card slot or a door one might be hiding behind. She found it inside the battery compartment and it appeared to be intact.

"C'mon." she said to Charlie as she moved towards a line of folding tables set up on the perimeter of the bodies where agents were going through the identifications recovered so far, running the names through the FBI database.

She gave the memory card to the person she came to, a women with short black hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Can you check this card for me?" she asked to woman. "I'm looking for the most recent video recorded."

The woman nodded, taking the card and sliding it into the memory card slot on the laptop she was using. She navigated to the contents of the flash drive. "Looks like the last video recorded was earlier today." she said, opening the file.

"I want you to note all the people on this video." Olivia instructed the woman, leaning over her shoulder to get a better look. "Cross-check them with the victims ID's that we've recovered."

The camera had been recording as the person carrying it was getting on the bus. The view was shaky and angled toward the right side of the aisle as its owner looked for a seat. Olivia scanned each person in view, trying to match the clothing with bodies she'd seen.

"If we're lucky," she said as the video panned over a woman in a tan overcoat holding a blue backpack. "maybe she caught whoever did… wait, stop… go back." Something wasn't right, there was a conflict with her memory. "Can you close in on that woman? The one in the tan coat?" Her pulse was racing, and her fingers had a viselike grip on the back of the woman's chair in her eagerness.

The woman reversed the playback, stopping it on the woman Olivia indicated and zoomed in. She was indeed holding a blue backpack. It hadn't been with her body when she'd seen it moments ago.

"What is it?" Charlie said from her side, eyes narrowed on the video.

"That backpack." Olivia replied, pointing down at the laptop monitor as she walked away towards the rows of bodies. "I just saw that woman, that backpack wasn't there." She moved back to where the victim's body was lying on the tarp and looked around. "Has anyone seen a blue backpack with the other personal effects?"

Several agents nearby looked at her and shrugged, shaking their heads. She crossed back to where Charlie was still standing behind the agent who'd run the video for her.

"So what…someone took the bag from her?" Charlie said, tilting his head back. "And then got off the bus before the attack?" Their gazes locked on each other. "Whoever did it, they knew she would be on the bus."

Olivia nodded thoughtfully. He was right, the attack wasn't random at all. The woman had been a target. "Who is she?" she said to one of the junior agents running names through the database.

The man pulled up her information on his screen with a few keystrokes.

Olivia bent forward reading the name. "Evelina Mendoza." She read out loud to Charlie. "She was a federal employee. What's her job?" The agent scrolled further down the page. There was a picture of the woman's face. Next to the picture was her status:

_Agent Dossier:_

_Special Agent Evelina Mendoza_

_United States Department of Justice_

_Drug Enforcement Agency_

_Assignments, Most Recent First_

_Special Agent, Boston Field Division_

_Undercover Investigations, 3 years_

_Special Agent, Boston Mobile Enforcement Unit, 2 years_

_Assistant Agent, Boston Field Division, 1 year_

_Current Assignment Manager, Grant Davidson_

"Oh my god, she was DEA." She turned her gaze to Charlie, saw the stunned look on his face. "She's been working undercover for the last _three years_." she added, straightening up and moving away from the juniors. She pulled Charlie aside with a tug on his sleeve. "I need to take this to Broyles. Can you have the body cleaned up and transferred to the Federal Building?"

"Sure thing. I'll get someone on it right away." he agreed, running his fingers through his dark hair. He had a worried look on his face.

"What is it?" Olivia asked, noticing his expression.

"This is some serious shit, Liv." he replied hesitantly after a moment."I know you don't want me to say it…but I'm going to anyways. Be careful." His voice was flat, the way it sounded before the start of a raid, when he knew the chance of things going south were high.

"I know it is. And I will be." she said, matching his seriousness, for once not irritated at all by his overprotective manner. Breaking their eye contact, she turned to go, then looked back over her shoulder at him. "Thanks, Charlie."

He nodded, and she walked out of the building, wondering how she had ended up with a friend like him.

.

Agent Broyles answered her call after the first ring. "Tell me you got good news, Dunham." he said without preamble.

"You got any friends at the DEA?" Olivia asked as she left the warehouse facility in her SUV.

"I wouldn't call them friends exactly, but yeah. Why?"

"One of the victims on the bus was DEA agent, undercover for three years." Olivia replied, switching her phone to her other hand as she drove. "She was carrying a blue backpack when she got on the bus. Whoever carried out the attack, took that backpack with them when they got off the bus."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Sir?" she said, checking her phone to make sure there was still a connection. There was.

"Yeah, I'm here. Anything else I should know?" If he was surprised at all by what she'd told him, he had recovered already. His voice was businesslike.

"There's one more thing." Olivia said as she drove down the on ramp to the freeway. "The woman had a handler in the DEA, a Grant Davidson. I'd like to bring him in for questioning."

There was a pause again, and she could picture him standing before the window in his office, hands on his hips, looking down on the activity in the rest of the office as he considered her request.

"I'll see what I can do." He said finally, and broke the connection.

Olivia tossed her phone on the seat next to her, shaking her head and wondering if the man understood that it was usually customary to end phone calls with more than a click.

.

At the Federal Building, Olivia was told Agent Broyles was waiting for her in his office when she arrived. She knocked once, and then entered his office, finding him seated at his desk, in the middle of a phone call. She took a seat in one of the comfortable brown chairs that were sitting near the window next to a coffee table, and waited for him to finish his call.

She found her thoughts wandering to Peter, and wondered how he was doing back at the lab. When Astrid had come for the sample, she said he'd been acting strangely after Olivia had dropped him and Walter off. Like he was nervous about something, but had denied anything was wrong when the junior agent had questioned him about it.

A sliver of fear ran through her. Was he preparing to leave? He had to stay in Boston, and Olivia would do almost anything to get him to accept that. Her cheeks suddenly began to grow hot, as several ways she might convince him to flashed uncalled for through her mind. _I don't think I'm not quite that desperate, yet_. She thought uneasily to herself, wide-eyed at how graphic and detailed the images had been.

"Ahem."

Olivia heard Broyles clearing his throat behind her, and she took a breath, forcing her game-face back in place, before turning to around to face him.

He eyed her suspiciously for a moment then said, "Mr. Davidson just arrived. He'll be here shortly."

Olivia nodded, her thoughts still too muddied to formulate much of a response.

Grant Davidson was a tall man with wavy brown hair, and looked to be in his mid to late thirties, by Olivia's estimation. He was close shaven and his chin protruded slightly from his face. He kind of reminded her of John, in the way he looked and presented himself. Maybe that was why she found him and his gray suit not the least bit attractive.

"I apologize if I wasn't helpful on the phone." He was saying in small voice to Broyles. "I needed to ask my superiors for clearance to talk to you about Eve."

"Of course." Broyles replied from the arm of the chair he was perched on. "Our condolences. From her records she seemed like an exemplary Agent."

"Uhh…" There was a sad smile on his face as he looked down at his feet. "She was." He said, nodding his head.

"Can you tell us anything about the case she was working on?" Olivia asked gently, realizing that he must have been close with the deceased woman.

"Uh…three months ago, she was tasked to infiltrate the east coast representatives of a Nicaraguan drug cartel." Davidson said, looking down at his feet again, and then glancing between her and Broyles. "We'd been banging on them for over a year. She called me. Said she wanted me to pull her out. She was scared. Said she heard members of the cartel discussing something about _The Pattern_." He shrugged his shoulders in confusion. "I told her I never heard of it. And…uh…we set up a meet but she never showed." He stumbled over the last few words, overcome with emotion.

Olivia exchanged glances with Broyles. Drug cartel members talking about _The Pattern_? That made no sense to her.

"It appears whoever attacked the bus this morning was interested in one of her effects." Broyles questioned. "Do you have any idea what she could've been carrying?"

The DEA agent shook his head, "I'm sorry, I wish I could be more helpful."

"You have been, Agent Davidson." Broyles said sincerely. "Thank you."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, then the DEA agent spoke again, almost shyly. "Uh…I've been asked by our office to officially ID her body." He looked between them hopefully. "I suppose that won't be a problem?" he said, his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed down some emotion.

"Of course not." Broyles said, getting to his feet and shaking Agent Davidson's hand. "Agent Dunham?"

Olivia smiled, and gestured towards the office door. "This way."

She led the other agent through the halls of the Federal Building and down into the basement, where the morgue was located. Her body was placed on a gurney in one of the viewing rooms, covered in a white sheet up to her neck. Thankfully, all of the material had been removed from her face.

"Have you spoken to any of her family members?" Olivia asked softly.

Agent Davidson was staring through the window at the body, a stricken expression on his face. He glanced over at her, "Uh…there's a brother she doesn't talk to…" His became quiet and he turned away from the window, swallowing heavily again. "I…I didn't realize how hard this was gonna be." he said hoarsely.

"You don't have to explain." she said, feeling sorry for the man. "I know what it's like to lose someone you've worked with closely." Olivia stared through the window at the dead woman, her jaw set. The situations were drastically different, but she could still sympathize.

"If you don't mind, I'd uh…I'd like to say good-bye." He said, turning towards the door out of the room.

Olivia nodded her head. "Of course."

She watched as he approached his dead colleague slowly and stared down at her. After a minute or two, he reached under the blanket for her hand, and held in front of him. He must have been stroking it gently, from the way his wrist was shifting. Olivia turned away not wanting to intrude on his moment.

* * *

**Peter** held up the beaker filled with the material that Walter had successfully recreated, spinning it in his hands. It didn't have quite the same tint as the stuff from the bus, being slightly more tan than yellow, but there was no doubt that it was the same thing, or close enough as to make no difference.

He had to admit, the piano had been a good idea. He'd only been about a third of the way through _Mass_, when Walter had yelled out his success. Still, he had finished out the piece anyway, finding playing again to feel surprisingly good. Astrid and Walter and both clapped when he finished, and he'd actually given them both a little bow, much to their delight.

From Olivia's desk, he could see Walter's back through the open office door as played some tune by Sanford & Townsend that he'd forgotten the name of. His father played well, he'd forgotten that too. Though his father tended to like the classics more than he did. Peter preferred to play pieces that were written within the last century, if he had a choice.

The door to the lab open and closed and he heard Olivia's husky voice from outside the office.

"Should I bother to ask?" she said, her footsteps coming closer. He could tell she had a smile on her face.

Peter rose out of her chair, wanting to show their success. He rushed through the office door and out into the lab, hefting the beaker in one hand.

"Music helps him process." Astrid was saying. "It works too. As soon as Peter started playing, Walter just kinda locked in. He was able to recreate the material from the crime scene."

"Really?" Olivia replied. She looked impressed.

"Hey!" Peter said, hurrying over to her, holding the beaker up for her to see. She had her long hair tucked behind her ear, holding it out of the way.

Olivia glanced at it then returned gaze to his face. "I hear you play the piano." she said, her full lips curved up in a smile. The smile stayed on her face as she took the beaker from him and her turned her attention to it.

"He doesn't just play." Astrid said, spinning in her chair towards them. "He's good. You should hear him."

Olivia's eyebrows rose and she met his eyes again, still smiling.

Peter felt himself blush and he swallowed. "Uh…no." he stammered without thinking. Olivia's smile turned into a frown, seemingly taken aback at his refusal. "Maybe some other time." he quickly added, feeling like an idiot.

"Olivia!" Walter called from the piano.

She turned her confused eyes from Peter and looked over at his father.

_Thank you, Walter. _Peter said to himself. A beautiful woman wanted wanted him to play for her, and his first response was to say no? What the hell was wrong with him? His brain seemed to malfunction when she turned those eyes on him. He would have to make it up to her, play her something nice.

"You'll be pleased to hear we figured it out." Walter was saying. "The material, the gas that was released on the bus, turned solid when it met the nitrogen in the atmosphere. Instantly immobilizing and suffocating the passengers." He struck a key on the piano, punctuating his statement.

"So who would have the know how to manufacture something like this?" Olivia asked, twisting the beaker in her hand as she spoke.

"I'll give you six guesses." Peter said as she turned back to him. "And the first five don't count."

"Massive Dynamic." she stated, her voice flat. "Why does it always come back to them?"

His father played the first movement of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony in the background. _Well played, Walter_. Peter thought with amusement.

"Check this out." Astrid said to Olivia, pointing to her computer screen. "Three chemical companies in the U.S. supply those compounds…all of them fully owned subsidiaries of Massive Dynamic."

Olivia's cell phone began to ring. She pulled it out of its holster at her waist and brought it to her ear. "Charlie? What's up?" She listened for a moment, then looked at Peter, her eyes intense. "Okay. I'll be there." she said, and ended the call.

"What is it?" Peter called after her as she clipped her phone back in place and moving swiftly toward the exit.

"Something I need to see." Olivia replied as she walked out the door without looking back.

Peter stared at the closed door for a moment, then turned toward Astrid and his father.

"No?" Astrid drawled, shaking her head at him in wonder.

.

.

.

.

.

**...and that's the second part of 1x03. Let me know what you think of it. Thanks for reading.**


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

**.**

**-South Boston, Massachusetts **

**Olivia **hurried across the street to the entrance of an apartment building at the address where Charlie had told her to meet him. It was a relatively short drive from the Harvard campus in Cambridge, but she still appeared to be the last one there. The usual entourage of FBI vehicles, some parked all the way up to the building on the sidewalk, barricaded off the scene, preventing onlookers from getting too close a look at what was going on. Agents hurried in and out one of the entrances to the building, the door propped open with a planter full of white lilies.

The address in question was a red bricked three-story structure, typical to that area of Boston, with a column of bay windows jutting out towards the street on either corner of the building. Mirroring each other, two double-door entrances were recessed into the bricks on the center-line of the building, the wood stained black, but still shining, indicating routine maintenance. Window mounted air conditioning units dotted the facade, the only visual eyesore on the pristine exterior.

She moved through a narrow gap between two SUV's, spotting Charlie speaking with a young agent carrying a bulky looking forensic evidence kit. He'd left his suit jacket behind, and the sleeves on his blue shirt were folded up to his forearms. Shaking head his, he pointed back toward an open rear hatch on the back of one of government issued SUV's. The young agent, shoulders slumped turned and legged it back to the truck, struggling with his heavy load.

"Hey, Charlie!" Olivia stepped onto the sidewalk, crossing the short distance to her partner. "You out here causing trouble?"

"Dunham." he said with a grin. "You know me, I gotta keep these kids on their toes."

Olivia glanced over where the young man was attempting to heave the case into the back of the SUV. "Well, he looks like he's about to break his toes." She said as another agent rushed over and helped him when appeared on the verge of dropping it. She looked towards the apartment building running her eyes over the windows facing the street. "What do we have here?"

Charlie nodded, his face turning serious as gestured for her to follow him through the open door.

Inside was a small lobby space with bluish carpeting and rows of mail boxes set into the wall on the left, to her right was small table with several potted sunflowers for decoration. She followed Charlie around a corner to a narrow stairwell leading to the upper floors of the building.

"We got a tip from a priest at St. Anne's." Charlie said over his shoulder as they climbed the flight of steps to the second floor. "Said the guy that lives here was in confession, and mentioned a potential incident about the bus before it happened."

"Aren't confessions was supposed to be confidential?" Olivia said as they reached the top of the steps. There was a landing with a doorway, presumably leading to the second floor apartments, and another flight of steps to the third floor.

"Maybe that doesn't apply when mass murder is involved." Charlie shrugged, stopping at the second floor and moving through the doorway into a brightly lit corridor with several doors evenly spaced running the length of the hallway.

Olivia didn't think that was the case as she followed him to an open door at the end of the passage. She was sure she remembered from her days at the catholic boarding school that breaking the Seal of Confession could result in excommunication. She was surprised a priest would risk damnation over what someone who'd probably sounded insane, said in a confession booth.

"So what do we know about this guy?" she asked as they passed through the doorway. She glanced around the interior as they moved into the living room. A single beige sofa was centered in the middle of the room facing a tv on a small stand against the wall opposite it. On the far side of the room was a piano, nestled in a corner next to a window. The apartment was full of FBI, examining the owner's belongings with a fine-toothed comb. In the middle of the hardwood floor was a large forensic kit, its top hanging open on its plastic hinge.

"Name's Roy McComb." Charlie said, handing her a sheet of paper and some blue latex gloves. "He's a high school graduate, no criminal record. Apparently he's been pushing papers over at an escrow company for the last couple of months. We Got BPD picking him up from there right now."

She glanced down at the paper. It was a printout with a photo of Roy McComb and his criminal record, of which there wasn't much to speak of, just some traffic tickets.

"That doesn't really seem like the profile of a mass-murderer." Olivia said, folding the paper and placing it in her pocket. She pulled on the latex gloves with a smack.

"No." he replied uncomfortably. "I didn't think so either." He inclined his head, indicating she should follow, and moved towards a doorway leading to a kitchen.

"What is it?" Olivia said, following after.

Roy McComb kept a clean kitchen, with dishes washed and placed vertically on a drying rack on the white countertop. There was a small, square dinette across from the kitchen sink, along with two matching chairs. She trailed Charlie through kitchen and into the next room.

Olivia stopped in her tracks, seeing immediately the cause of his strange behavior. At a glance, it appeared the room was a studio for an artist, with paintings and sketches hanging on the walls, and miniaturized models meticulously crafted sitting on a table in the middle of the room. At more than a glance, the subject matter of all the various pieces jumped out at her, a chill running down her spine at the gruesome scenes and images portrayed in the artwork.

She stepped farther into the room, raking her gaze around the space, taking everything in. Whatever obsession had taken hold of Roy McComb, it was apparently all consuming. Covering almost every surface of the walls were sketches, hand-drawn in black ink, all of which were graphic portrayals of death, from dead bodies complete with bright red blood splatters, to men and women's horribly deformed visages, all screaming in agony. Mixed in with finely detailed sketches were others that could have been drawn by a disturbed child with crayons, and were somehow more unsettling than the finer work. One the work table and on the countertops around the perimeter of the room, were models of varying size and detail level, mostly depicting destroyed buildings and even a collapsed bridge with accompanying little matchbox cars teetering on the jagged edges. One of the models in particular caught her attention, a broken airliner with the cabin exposed, and little figurines that appeared to be wearing HAZMAT suits, set up in and around the plane. On the wings, highlighted by an overhead lamp, were the numbers _627_ written in black marker.

Olivia drew in a breath. "Is that the flight from Hamburg?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. You're looking at depictions of dozens of attacks, accidents, disasters we've seen over the past year." He pointed to a sketch taped to the front of cabinet. It was of a bridge collapsing, presumably the same one as the model, with the cars sliding off into the churning river below. "And get this, all of them are dated before the incidents took place."

On the bottom right hand corner of the sketch was the date scribbled in pencil, the day indicated was over a year ago. "Is this supposed to be the Birmingham Bridge?" she asked.

"That's our best guess." Charlie said. He handed her a plastic evidence baggie containing a wrinkled piece of paper. "And then there's this."

Olivia took the baggie, flattening the paper against her thigh before taking a look. It seemed to be a drawing of the interior of a bus, with the view facing towards the front windshield. The passengers were shown clutching at their throats, mouths stretched open as if they were choking or gasping for air. Many had their arms outstretched in a plea for help.

She glanced up at Charlie. "Where'd you get this?"

"Mr. McComb dropped it in the aisle of the church after confession early this morning." He hooked a thumb behind his belt. "It's the reason the priest called in the tip."

"Do we know this guy's whereabouts after that?" she inquired. "Does he have an alibi?" The incident on the bus had occurred at 8:14 am.

"His employer told us he showed up on time at 8 am. He's been there all day."

Olivia wished there were two of her, so she could be there to question Roy McComb, and go pay another visit to Nina Sharp at the same time. She shook her head, irritated at the situation. Although, after thinking about it for a moment, she realized it also presented an opportunity. "I gotta get to New York and Massive Dynamic." she said, handing the drawing of the bus back to her partner. "Can you do me a favor?"

Charlie nodded, "Whatever you need, Liv."

"After you finish up here, can you stop by the lab and pick up the Bishops?" she asked innocently, brushing some stray hair behind one ear. "I want them there for McComb's interrogation."

Olivia watched his face closely, awaiting any kind of reaction. She wasn't above arranging for Charlie to spend a little more time with Peter Bishop, or his father, for that matter.

"Sure thing." he said without hesitation, though she did detect a slight tightening around his eyes.

"Okay." She paced a few steps, then turned on her heels. "Oh yeah, Dr. Bishop figured out the material used on the bus. He and Peter recreated it."

"You're shittin' me." Charlie's eyebrows rose, wrinkling his forehead. "You know, I overheard some of the chem boys talking about it, and they were clueless."

She thought she heard a faint whisper of respect in his voice. "Admit it, Charlie," Olivia smirked as she moved back toward the kitchen. "Having the Bishops here was a good idea."

"Nobody likes a know-it-all, Dunham." he said dryly from behind as he followed her through the apartment.

* * *

**Peter** tossed his phone on top of the piano case, staring at it for a moment before sitting back down at the piano bench. He had not been expecting any calls from Charlie Francis. He thought the man had been warming up to him, back when they were working to save John Scott's life, but when it became clear that he would be sticking around on a more permanent basis, their relationship had become a bit strained, not that he saw the guy all that often. For some reason the guy was very protective of Olivia, and Charlie probably thought he was moving in on his turf. Which he supposed he was in a sense, but it wasn't like that exactly. Whatever…if Agent Francis wanted to be a hard ass about it, there was nothing he could do to stop him. It was all up in the air anyway, depending on what else he found on the memory card in his pocket, and his father.

He sat up straight on the bench, running through the opening notes to _Stormy Weather_. He'd always like the whimsical cadence of the song. There was something about playing it that he'd always found to be stress relieving. He relaxed, letting everything flow through his fingers and into the keyboard.

"How long have you been playing the piano?"

Peter looked up to see Astrid's curious face as she leaned over the back of the piano. "Since I was six or seven, I think." he said, picking up speed as the tempo increased.

"You took your first lessons when you were five years old." Walter said from across the lab.

Peter glanced up at sound of his father's voice. He was leaning against the old tank, watching him play with a piece of licorice hanging out of his mouth. "Really?" he said, cocking his head and thinking back. That wasn't quite how he remembered it, but what did he know, he could hardly remember anything from that age.

"Oh yes." he replied, taking a bit of his beloved Red Vine. "Your mother insisted that we start you early. She had grand plans for you, you know." He shook his head regretfully.

Peter's hands froze on the keys, his gaze locked on his father's face. The nerve of the man, to bring his mother up as if she would have been disappointed in him. She had encouraged him! He felt an ache in his jaw, and realized he'd been clenching his teeth together furiously. He could see Astrid looking back and forth between them in his peripheral vision.

"Hey...was that Olivia on the phone?" she said, moving in front of him and blocking his view of Walter. There was a no-nonsense look on her face.

Peter ran a hand through his hair and around to the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, letting his head drop. _Fucking Walter_, he thought, exhaling a long breath. Looking around Astrid, he could see that his father was completely oblivious, and was already moving towards the stairwell down to his storage room.

"No...it was Agent Francis." He forced a grin on his face. "Apparently, they brought in a person of interest, as he put it." He pushed out the piano bench and rose to his feet. "Olivia wants us to hear his interrogation, so he's picking us up."

Astrid's eyes grew excited. "All of us?"

Peter shrank back with a wince. "Uh...well...he mentioned me and Walter." he said with an embarrassed shrug.

A perturbed look grew on her face, her lips turning down in a frown. "Uh huh. Figures." she said, crestfallen, and shaking her head as she returned to her workstation and dropped into her seat.

.

Peter shifted in his seat uncomfortably as Agent Francis turned his SUV in the direction of the Federal Building. He glanced sideways at the agent, careful to not appear to be staring. The other man had said little since he'd picked them up outside of the Kresge Building. By the time Charlie had pulled up in his SUV, it had been past 7 pm, and his father had been complaining about food, and needing sleep. Turning his head a little farther, he could see him out in the back seat, his jaw slack and snoring quietly.

Bringing his attention back to Charlie Francis, he looked at him openly. "Why did Olivia have _you_ pick us up?" he asked, getting straight to the point. Olivia new he and Walter had access to a vehicle. There was really no reason for it. "Astrid could have driven us."

Charlie turned gaze toward him, then up to the rearview mirror for a moment, before returning to the road. He chewed his lip for a minute before replying. "She probably wants us to spend some time together." he said, returning his gaze to him momentarily.

"Huh." Peter said, not sure what to say to that, or why Olivia would want that.

Charlie glanced at him again. "She doesn't think I thrust you."

So that was it. Everything became clear to him at once.

"That's because you don't, do you?" Peter said. He wasn't stupid. If Olivia didn't think Agent Francis trusted him, it was because he'd undoubtedly told her so. "You don't think I can watch her back, or...whatever you call it. Cause I'm not a trained agent or some bullshit like that."

"That's right." They were stopped at a traffic light, and Charlie had turned his body toward him, giving him his full attention. "I don't think you're up for it. And with your past..." He shrugged dismissively, as if daring Peter to prove him wrong, and then faced forward again as the light turned green and he accelerated through the intersection.

Peter considered possible responses, feeling as if he were at a job interview or asking an overprotective father for his daughter's hand. The latter thought made him want to laugh, but that probably wouldn't go over too well with Agent Stern-faced, so he forced himself to stillness.

"Look," he said after a moment. "I get that you don't trust me, and that's fine. If I were you, I probably wouldn't trust me either. But really, Agent Francis, I'm mostly harmless."

"It's the mostly in that sentence that worries me." Charlie said, his voice cold.

"I'm telling you I'm not a threat," Peter insisted. "least of all to Olivia."

"Yeah? And what if you leave?" he said, turning the corner on to the street the Federal Building was located. "She's got a lot riding on you, and your father." he nodded his head towards the back seat.

"What are you getting at?" Peter said, keeping his eyes on the other man's face.

"For whatever reason, Bishop, Agent Dunham…" Charlie said, stressing her formal title. "She thinks highly of you. Now are you telling me you haven't thought about leaving?"

"I thought this was about me watching her back." Peter said, covering his shock at the agent's words. She thought highly of him? What was he supposed to do with that? And how the hell could he suspect he'd been thinking about leaving?

"It's all the same thing." Charlie went on, and then paused, licking his lips consideringly. "She trusts you, I don't know why, but she does. And suffice to say, that doesn't come easily for her."

"What do you mean, she doesn't trust easily?" he asked, hoping Charlie would elaborate.

"That's not for me to say." Charlie said. "If she wants you to know her life story, she'll tell you herself."

The fact that there was some story to tell, coupled with his talk about her having trust issues, told Peter that his initial assumptions about her background had probably been wrong. He found himself intensely curious to know what the agent was talking about. "I would never do anything intentionally to hurt her, if that's what you're so worried about." he said truthfully.

"And what do you think your leaving would do?" Charlie questioned. "I've seen your record…you're a nomad, a loner. Not exactly the qualities I'm looking for in my friend's partner."

Charlie turned the SUV into the parking garage under the Federal Building, guiding it through the levels until they reached the reserved spots and parked in what Peter thought must be his regular spot. He left the engine running. Apparently, their conversation wasn't over yet. He glanced back at his father who still asleep in the back seat.

"Look, I can't promise I'll never have to leave." Peter said earnestly. "Some things are beyond my control. Olivia already knows what I'm talking about. If it does happen though, I can promise you I wouldn't leave without giving her warning first. That's the best I can do." He hoped the other man wouldn't question him further on it, because there was no way he could tell him the truth; that his leaving might be sooner than later.

"I guess that's good enough, for now." Charlie said finally, shutting off the engine and holding out his hand.

Peter took it and gave it a squeeze before letting go and relaxing back in his seat. He felt tired, like he'd gone a round or two in the ring. The man was dogged, if nothing else.

"You got any daughters, Agent Francis?" he said, cocking his head at the dark-haired agent.

"No kids yet. Why?" There was curious look on the other man's face.

"Well if you do, I hope you have all boys." he said with a crooked grin.

"And why's that?"

"Because I feel sorry for any boyfriends a daughter of yours would bring home." Peter said, unclipping his seatbelt.

"Yeah...I could see that." Charlie agreed with a grin, and opened his door.

Peter reached over the seat, and gave his father a shake. "Walter! Wake up, we're here!"

Walter eyes popped open and he looked around wildly. "Already?" he said, sitting up straight.

"Yeah. Already. Let's go."

They followed Agent Francis through the bowels of the Federal Building, not stopping until they reached the detention level. The corridors were mostly empty, and the footsteps of the three of them were the only sounds he could hear, other than the gentle hum of the ventilation system. Peter felt a bout of queasiness in his gut as they approached the room Richard Stieg had been held in. He glanced in through the window as they passed it by, it was empty, any evidence of his attack on the man long gone. Luckily the man they were here to see wasn't in it.

"Have we been here before, son?" Walter asked from behind him as Charlie led them to gray door on the left side of the hallway. He pulled it open for them.

"Yes, Walter, we've been here before." Peter said, nodding to Charlie as he passed him by.

The room appeared to be a conference room, with a long table in the center surrounded by chairs, with a cart holding a coffee machine in one corner of the room There was a large one way mirrored glass window on one wall of the room, which gave away its true purpose. The overhead lights were dimmed almost to the point of being off completely. Agent Broyles was leaning against the window, his hand clutching the frame above his head. He turned toward them at their entrance.

"Dr. Bishop, Peter. Thank you for coming."

* * *

**Olivia** was once again seated in Nina Sharpe's office, high up in the Massive Dynamic Building. It was late by the time she caught her flight to New York, and past dark by the time she finally made up to top the top of the building. She looked out through the white-framed ceiling height windows at the skyline, seeing the brightly lit tower of atop the Empire State Building off in the distance. When Rachel and Ella visited in a month or two, she decided they were going to make a day trip of going there, and several other places in the city she was sure her little niece would love to see. She turned her attention from the windows, looking around the office.

Nina Sharp appeared to be a solitary woman, with no pictures or personal effects of any sort on her white desk, or hanging on the walls. Did she have a family? Olivia made a mental note to look into it. She found herself here enough lately, that any extra information she had on the woman could be of use in the verbal sparring contests they always seemed to have. She expected this day to be no different.

A door to her left opened suddenly, and Nina Sharp's assistant, Danielle entered the room, followed a moment later by the woman herself, wearing her typical flowing black garb. She crossed the room taking a seat at her desk while her assistant stood at attention off to the side, out of the way, but ready to assist her superior if need be.

Nina picked up a sheet of paper of her desk, running her eyes over before setting it down and finally meeting Olivia's eyes. "Agent Dunham," she said, smiling politely. "How nice to see you. I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Olivia tried to return the sentiment. "I didn't expect to be back here so soon." she said with a shrug, crossing her legs and placing her hands on the arms of the white leather chair.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" the older woman said, resting on her elbows, her fingers intertwined in front of her.

"Have you heard anything about the incident involving a public bus that happened this morning in Boston, Miss Sharp?" Olivia asked.

The redhead raised her eyebrows, tilting her head at the question. "Oh yes." she said, nodding her head. "In the Callahan Tunnel, wasn't it? Was it an attack of some sort?"

As Nina spoke, Olivia examined the other woman's face, looking for signs of subterfuge. She was massaging the palm of her right hand, driving her thumb into it with some considerable force, judging by the torque the motion was putting on her wrist. Olivia's eyes wandered back up to her eyes, and saw a slight twitch under her left eye.

"Yes, it was an attack." she said. "All of the passengers and the driver were killed."

"How tragic." Nina stated, separating her hands and placing them on the table, her smile still in place. "Now, how can Massive Dynamic be of assistance to the FBI?"

The woman's casual dismissal of a bus load of people dying made Olivia's blood run cold. Either that, or Nina Sharp already knew all about it. She hoped it was the latter, for her sake.

"A gas was released on the bus," Olivia said, "which when combined with the nitrogen in the atmosphere, solidified around the passengers, suffocating them all." She paused, seeing if her words drew any reaction from the other woman. Nina raised her eyebrows slightly, waiting for her to continue. Olivia gripped the arm of her chair tightly, making imprints in the soft leather at the lack of any emotional response from her. She wet her lips, then continued. "There were fourteen different chemicals compounds used to make the material responsible. Three of them, manufactured exclusively by your subsidiaries."

"I see you've done your homework." Nina nodded, and picked up a sheet of paper from her desk, running her eyes over it. "We supply them to a dozen labs around the world. It could have been stolen from any one of them." she said, gesturing vaguely, her gaudy red ring drawing Olivia's gaze.

"I'll need a list of all those labs, then." she said, forcing herself to remain serene.

"Of course, anything you need." Nina turned to her assistant, nodding her head toward the door.

The sharp-faced woman left her post and exited the room.

"Thank you." Olivia said, trying to sound sincere. For some reason, she found the task difficult. The woman had a way of getting under her skin, and she was unable to determine if it was intentional or not.

Nina crossed her arms on the desk, tapping her ring finger against her forearm as their eyes met. Olivia kept her polite smile up, resting her chin on her hand, unwilling to be the first to break the uneasy silence as they waited for her assistant to return with the list. The other woman's arrogance was too much for her allow herself to do so. The fact that the leads always seemed to end up here, and Nina's blithe manner about innocent people dying from products her company helped produce, was unacceptable to her.

Finally Nine broke the eye contact, leaning back in her chair and swiveling it from side to side. "So, is there anything else?" she asked, spreading her hands wide.

Olivia took the opportunity voice her concerns. "When we first met," she said, dropping her hand back to arm of her seat. "You said that science and technology had advanced to such as state that, your words," she nodded across the desk toward her. "they were running out of control."

"That sounds about right." Nina's smile dipped as she looked down at her desk.

"Well so far, all the science and technology that I've come across in my cases has been very _tightly_ controlled by Massive Dynamic." Olivia said pleasantly. "Every single case I investigate has a tie back to this company." She tapped a finger on Nina's desk.

"Well, I think maybe you have it backwards." Nina grinned condescendingly. "Massive Dynamic is... well...so massive, that just about everything in the world of science and technology does have a tie back to us." She shrugged, then held up a finger in Olivia's direction. "Of course, I could say something of the same to you, couldn't I? You've been investigating these cases for a very short while now. At least three of them have occurred right in your own backyard. I might suspect that you, yourself were somehow responsible."

Olivia found the woman's logic infuriating, but before she could respond, the door opened and her assistant returned carrying a manilla file folder. She crossed the room and handed the folder to her superior. Nina opened it and shuffled through the contents, before placing it on the desk in front of her.

"I hope it'll help you find whoever's responsible for these attacks." Nina said as Olivia rose from her seat.

"Attacks, Miss Sharp?" she said, narrowing her eyes.

Nina looked away momentarily, a knowing smile forming on her lips. "Apparently, Broyles hasn't told you." she said. "Yes, the technology was used once before in Prague, although there were fewer casualties." Her smile became almost gleefully patronizing. "Then I suppose if you had access to the case files, you'd know that we'd already shared all the information we have with the government." She handed the file across the desk to Olivia,

She felt her cheeks flaming with embarrassment._ Goddamnit Broyles._ "Thank you." Olivia said, taking the folder. "For the information." She turned and left quickly, needing to get out of there before she broke something.

On the flight back to Boston, she prepared a few choice words for Special Agent Broyles to share with him when she saw him next. This was not going to happen again.

* * *

**Peter** watched the fidgeting man through the one-way mirror into the interrogation room. He'd been brought in about an hour ago, and then left to himself in the room as the agents observed his reactions. Roy McComb was a heavyset fellow with pudgy cheeks with a thin beard and scruffy brown hair, which was on the long side and covered his ears. He was looking around nervously, staring at the mirror and tugging at the collar on his flannel shirt.

There was a shuffling sound behind him, and looking over his shoulder, he saw Walter with a stack of yellow post-its, sticking them together to make an accordion-like structure. He was stretching them apart and letting the tension in the folds he created spring them back together again with a look of childlike fascination on his face. Shaking his head, Peter decided to ignore him; at least he was occupied and not causing too much trouble.

He turned to Agent Broyles, who was gripping the window frame, his face impassive as always. "So this guy drew Flight 627, the Angel Suicides in Baltimore, and the Birmingham Bridge Collapse." he said, listing off his supposed accomplishments. "Clearly, the man is disturbed...but do you really think that he could be involved in all this? Didn't you say he worked for an escrow agency?"

Broyles glanced over at him, "Yeah, he does." the agent said, looking back though the mirror. "And no, I don't see how he could be involved. But that doesn't make me any less interested in the way he got his information." He let go of the window and pivoted his head, looking between him and Walter. "Several of those incidents have never been made public. And based on the evidence, every one of them was either drawn or constructed before the event depicted."

Peter couldn't see how that was possible, other than the man having super powers, and he certainly didn't look like a superhero, or villain in this case. McComb looked downright terrified at the moment, with beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow that he wiped at occasionally with one of his sleeves. He was starting to swallow repeatedly, and Peter thought he might have been on the verge of hyper-ventilating when the interrogation room door opened, and Agent Francis entered.

He sat down across from McComb and opened the file folder he'd brought in with him. "Mr. McComb. I'm Special Agent Charlie Francis of the FBI." he said, flipping through the file folders contents. They appeared to be the drawings McComb had done that had caused the fuss. "I want to tell you're not officially being charged with anything right now, and I'd like to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?"

Roy McComb nodded uneasily, "Yeah, okay...uh...you can call me Roy." he said.

"Okay, Roy it is." Charlie said. He picked up a drawing on a wrinkled sheet of paper, and held it up for the other man to see. "Then let's start with this drawing of yours." He laid it down in front of McComb. Peter could see that it was the drawing of the bus.

Roy looked down at it and swallowed, his lower lip quivering. "I...uh...I drew that." he said in a high-pitched voice. "Last night."

Charlie nodded his head. "Can you tell me why you drew it, Roy?"

Roy shrugged, his eyes wide. "I don't know why...I just...had to." he gasped. "Sometimes...I just have to."

"Explain that." Charlie said.

Roy's head shook from side to side in short, sharp motions. "I dunno, it's like...I just have to do it." he repeated with pleading eyes.

Peter watched the man's body language, looking for signs the man was lying, but his eye movements, his posture, his choice of words and the way he maintained eye contact with Charlie when he spoke, all pointed to him telling the truth. He glanced over at Walter. His father was standing still, cupping an elbow in one hand and his chin in the other, eyes narrowed on Roy McComb.

"Did you know this was going to happen?" Charlie asked, putting his finger on the drawing.

Roy shook his head, "I don't know what they mean," he said desperately. "When I'm drawing or making them...I swear I don't know what they mean, until afterward...when it happens. Sometimes I never know."

His voice had started to turn high-pitched again, and Charlie held up two calming hands. "It's okay, Roy. I'm not accusing you of anything." he said, and waited for the other man to settle back in his chair. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I think so." Roy said, his voice returning to as normal as it could be when one was being questioned by the FBI over a terrorist attack. Peter found himself feeling sorry for the guy.

"Okay, let's forget that for now." Charlie pulled the bus drawing away from him and sorted through the stack of drawings. "What about this one?" He selected another drawing and placed it on the table. "Is this one gonna happen too, Roy?"

It was a black and white sketch of a woman's body in front of a dark background. The shape of the body was mostly undefined, with only the long hair giving away that it was female. Her hands at her sides were turned palm up, reminding him of portraits of Jesus, including the stigmata, from which bright red trails of blood dripped from the center of each palm to the edge of the paper. Peter thought the sketch was a bit of an oddity for Roy. All his other pieces of art seemed to be of some kind of disaster scene, and yet this was just a solitary woman. It was curious, if nothing else.

"Look, I know that...this sounds crazy." Roy said, his eyes drifting down to the sketch. "In fact, I think I am crazy." He admitted shakily, then swallowed. "But I can be anywhere, at home or at work, and uh, then all of a sudden I get this...I don't really know how to describe it...this...feeling," he said tearily, and let out a gasp before continuing. "and the only way that I can get it out, get rid of it is to try to draw what I see. Or to try to build it. Sometimes, that works."

"How long have you been getting these...feelings?"

Roy shrugged, "I don't know...maybe nine months, maybe a year." He ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't really date anything the first few times it happened."

Charlie nodded. "Is there anything else you can tell us?" he asked. "Anything at all could help."

Roy shook his head, biting at his lip. "I just want it stop!" he cried out, holding his face in his hands. After a few minutes, he lifted his face and wiped at his blood-shot eyes. "I just want it to stop." he repeated in a calmer tone, his face full of self-pity.

Charlie glanced over at the mirror, then rose to his feet. "Sit tight, Roy." he said, putting a hand on the man's shoulder, and giving him a comforting squeeze.

Roy nodded and Charlie left the room, returning to the viewing room and stuck his head in the door. "Sir, I'm gonna get the release forms for Mr. McComb to fill out. What are we doing with him?" he asked his superior.

Agent Broyles kept his eyes on the broken man with his head in his hands in the interrogation room. "Don't know yet." he said. He turned to Walter. "Any thoughts Dr. Bishop?"

"Several." Walter replied, moving over to coffee cart. He inspected its contents without any further comment.

"Well, would you care to share them with us, Walter?" Peter said, moving away from the window and lounging on the edge of the table.

"When I am ready," his father said. "I will present my hypothesis." He grabbed a mug and started preparing a cup of coffee, then looked over at Broyles. "It hasn't simmered long enough yet, you see."

Broyles stared at him for a moment, then turned back to Charlie, dismissing him with a nod. He grabbed the window frame again, turning his attention back on McComb. "Nine months...Roy's feelings...or whatever they are, they began roughly when we became aware of _The Pattern_." he said looking over at Peter.

"Meaning what?" Peter said. Clearly there was some connection between the two, but he couldn't see it. The guy should be a non-entity, as far as a group of people capable of pulling off the bus attack were concerned. The fact that McComb was still alive, and not on a slab in a morgue, told him that whoever was behind this, wasn't aware of him. So how had he become aware of them?

"I'm not entirely sure yet." Broyles said pacing away from the window with one hand in his pocket. "But it's hard to say he's lying." he added, stopping in front of Peter.

"I don't think he's lying, at least intentionally." Peter said. "I'd like to consider myself to be a fairly good poker player, which requires reading your opponents' tells, knowing when someone's bluffing. He's not bluffing." he said, shaking his head. "Regardless of what the actual explanation is, he sincerely believes that what he's saying is the truth."

"In that case, what do you suggest?" Broyles questioned. "How could he have learned of these incidents, and what is compelling him to...recreate them?

He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know." he replied. "It's gonna take someone smarter than me to figure that out." he said, turning his head as the door to the corridor outside opened.

* * *

**Olivia** met Charlie on her way down to the detention level of the Federal Building, almost running into him as he exited the elevator. She had just arrived back from her trip to New York and had been informed that Roy McComb's questioning was still in progress, and was in a hurry to catch the tail end of it if possible.

"Charlie!" she said, stepping back quickly from the elevator door.

"Liv. You just get back?" he said, pulling her to the side. The collar of his blue shirt was unbuttoned, with his tie hanging loosely around his neck.

"Yeah." Olivia said, hand on hip. She nodded toward the elevator. "How'd it go with McComb?"

Charlie shook his head and snorted. "I don't think the guy had anything to do with the attacks."

"Then how'd he know about them beforehand?" she asked, confused at his answer. In her mind, if he knew about them, then he was a part of it somehow. An if-then formula, as Walter would say.

"Don't ask me." he replied with a shrug. "That's what you hired the Bishops for. How was New York?"

It was Olivia's turn to snort. "Huh. A complete waste of time." she said savagely. A waste of time was an understatement. She could have been in there with Charlie and McComb, instead of making a fool of herself in front of Nina Sharp, again.

"They couldn't help you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No, they were very helpful." Olivia smirked, letting her irritation show. "It's not important. Is everyone below?" she asked, pushing the elevator call button.

"Yeah. They're just finishing up now." Charlie said, turning to go. "I'll see you in a bit." he said over his shoulder as he proceeded toward the office area of the building.

She watched him go for a moment before calling out, "Hey, Charlie!"

He stopped and looked back at her, eyebrows arched.

"Any problems picking up the Bishops?" She was curious to see whether Peter had been able to work his charms again on her old friend. She thought the chances were good that they were seeing eye to eye.

Charlie shook his head and grinned. "No problems. Everything's just peachy, Dunham." he said, giving her a knowing look.

Olivia returned his smile. "Right. See ya Charlie." she said and stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the detention level.

The ride was a short one and she soon found herself at the door into the viewing room for Roy McComb. She pushed it open, catching Peter's voice as he replied to some statement she'd missed.

"I don't know." Peter was saying. "It's gonna take someone smarter than me to figure that out."

He was perched on the edge of a table, and swiveled toward her as she entered. Olivia saw his gaze run over her from head to toe, then back to eye level. Walter was standing near a coffee cart, a cup raised to his lips, with a faraway look on his face. Broyles was standing in front of Peter, hands in his pockets. Behind him was the one-way mirrored window into the interrogation room. McComb was sitting across from the window, a dejected expression on his face. He looked like he might've been weeping.

"Hey guys." she said, coming to join them. "I just saw Charlie, he told me you-"

"It's Occam's Razor." Walter said suddenly, cutting her off.

They all turned to stare at him.

"If all other things are equal," he went on, stirring his coffee with one finger, "then the simplest solution is the best, and most likely correct one." He took another sip, looking at them expectantly.

"...And what is that?" Broyles said when he didn't elaborate.

"The man's psychic." Walter said with a shrug of his shoulders, as if it should have been obvious to everyone present.

Broyles looked down, and Olivia saw a dubious look on his face.

"Theoretically," Walter said slowly, "It's all quite possible."

"So you're saying Roy can read people's minds?" she asked. A month ago, the possibility he was correct would have never occurred to her. But things had changed since then, the tank had changed her opinion on what was possible and what wasn't.

Walter nodded his head. "I posit that Roy has no control over his abilities." he said, walking slowly forward. "That he's linked psychically with someone, or less likely but still possible, a small group of people responsible for these events. Equally possible, someone's who merely discussing them." He came to a stop in front of Broyles. "Perhaps he's communicating with you, Agent Broyles."

Broyles smiled, a bit condescendingly, in Olivia's opinion. "Dr. Bishop," he said. "I'd like to think I have an open mind, but I'm having a hard time believing that man can hear another person's thoughts." His gazed shift through the window to McComb.

"So do I." Walter agreed. "Which is why I would like to prove it to you."

Olivia winced, steepling her index fingers in front of her lips. She glanced over at Peter, their eyes meeting momentarily.

"And here we go." he said, a pained look on his face as they watched his father.

"And how would you do that?" Broyles asked softly.

"Am I required to keep him alive?" Walter asked.

"That would probably be for the best, Walter." Olivia spoke up. She had seen Broyles eyes widen at Walter's question.

"In that case, then he'll need to have an MRI." Peter's father replied, turned away from the disturbed look Broyles was giving him.

"Why does he need an MRI?" Peter asked, sliding off the table to his feet.

"I need to become familiar with his brain, of course." Walter said, taking another sip of his coffee. "And if I can't look in his head, then I need something else that can."

Peter closed his eyes, "Of course, why didn't I think of that." he said. He made as if to rub the back of his neck, but stopped short when he noticed her watching him.

Olivia looked away, not sure why she'd been staring at him in the first place. She turned to Broyles. "Can you arrange that?" she asked.

"Yeah. But it will have to wait until tomorrow." he said, looking through the window again. "If he agrees to it, that is."

"I think he will." Peter said, coming to stand beside her. "He told Agent Francis that he wanted it to stop."

Broyles looked at her, "Find out, then get back to me." he said, turning and heading toward the door.

"Okay." Olivia said to his back, as he walked out the door to the corridor. Then she remembered she needed to talk to him. "I'll be right back." she said to Peter, and hurried after her superior.

She caught up to him as he neared the elevator lobby. "Sir!" she called after him.

Broyles stopped and turned back to face her.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" she asked. When he didn't stop her, she went on. "Nina Sharp just told me that this isn't the first time that material from the bus has been used."

Agent Broyles dark eyes locked on her, his face unreadable. After a few moments he let out a breath. "I'd normally be skeptical of anything coming from Nina but in this case, she's correct."

Olivia struggled to hold back an irritated laugh. "So what," she said incredulously. "I don't even have clearance to know background on a case I'm investigating?"

"Agent Dunham," he said in a voice low. "If I'm not always completely transparent with you there's a reason. This little task force that you and I call our day job now...It sometimes requires some...shall we say bureaucratic maneuvering to keep it alive and free from political meddling." He stopped, and gave her a pointed look before continuing. "Which means…sometimes I don't tell you everything for your own protection."

Olivia shook her head. "With all due respect, Sir, that's not good enough." she said. "I've been trained for a lot. Hostage crises, terror campaigns, suicide bombers, chemicals attacks, but, you know the things I have seen since I started working for you...If I'm gonna do this job, I need to know what it is I'm dealing with."

Broyles hard gaze softened just a touch. "And you will." he said quietly. "When you're ready. Until then, I suppose you're just going to have to trust me." He waited a moment, and then turned and walked away toward the elevators, his back stiff as ever.

Olivia ground her teeth as she made her way back down the hallway to the holding cells. The conversation had not gone as planned, at all. She decided she wasn't done with it, and would call him on it again, if she had to. The passages of the Federal Building were mostly empty, but there always some people there at any given time. She nodded absently as she passed an unfamiliar woman hurrying past her in the opposite direction. Broyles explanation for keeping critical information from her didn't make much sense, in her opinion. Was it some kind of test? Or maybe he wanted to see if her team came to the same conclusions as whomever had investigated the previous attack. Either way, it was an irritant that she could do without.

She found Peter outside of McComb's room, looking through the tiny window set into the door at eye level. At the sound of her footsteps, he pulled away from the window, glancing over his shoulder.

"Hey." she said, looking around. "Where's Walter?"

"He's playing with the blinds in the viewing room." Peter said, directing her eyes back toward room, where she could see the shades opening and closing in some kind of rhythm.

"Everything okay?" he asked, reading the troubled look on her face.

Olivia shook her head and looking down at her feet, "Yeah, it's...just..." she looked up again, and saw the concern on his face before he erased it. She shook her head again, and pushed her hair out of her face. "What are you doing?" she said, taking a peek through the window. McComb was still at the table, resting his head on one hand.

"Waiting for you." Peter said, thankfully not mentioning her non-answer or her changing the subject. "I figure of the two of us, Mr. McComb would probably agree to get an MRI, and then let Walter tinker with his brain if the request came from someone like you, instead of someone like me." He flashed her a wide grin.

"Someone like me?" she asked coolly, raising her eyebrows and placing a hand on her hip.

"Yeah...A pretty woman, instead of some guy." he said casually, stepping away from the door. She saw a faint tint of pink on his cheeks, behind his scruff. "Don't you think?" he asked, not meeting her eyes.

Olivia nodded, feeling herself blush a little. She had asked, after all. She stepped past him, opening the door and going in. Roy McComb looked up at her entrance.

"Mr. McComb, " she said, holding out a hand. "I'm Special Agent Olivia Dunham."

Roy sat up, taking her hand and giving it a shake. "Hi. You can call me Roy."

Olivia smiled and sat down across from him. "Okay Roy." she said. "I just wanted to let you know that the FBI isn't considering you a suspect in the incidents you depicted in your artwork, at this time."

Relief poured off of Roy McComb's face in waves. "Really?" he gasped. "Oh thank god." He covered his face with his hands, breathing hard. After a moment, he lowered his hands and gave her a weak smile.

"However," she went on, clasping her hands together. "We would like you stick around Boston, in case you have any more...premonitions, that could be of interest to us. Is that okay?"

"Of course." Roy nodded vigorously, leaning forward in his seat. "Anything you need."

"Good. Then there's just one more thing Roy, and then I'll arrange for someone to take you home." Olivia said, then hesitated, licking her lips and thinking of how she wanted to word it. "This...ability...that you seem to have, would you like to know more about it?"

Roy froze, his mouth hanging open. "Uhh...I...uh...I guess so." he said anxiously. "What do you mean, exactly?"

Olivia tucked her hair behind her ears. "Roy, I work with a...specialist," she said, "who thinks he might be able help you understand why this is happening to you. But in order to do so, he'd like you to have an MRI done first. Would that be okay with you?" she said, leaning forward on her elbows and smiling agreeably.

He looked down at his hands, thrumming his fingertips on the table softly. He seemed to be debating with himself as his head bobbed up and down. "Okay." he said, lifting his chin up and making eye contact. "Sure...if you think it can help me."

Olivia rose to her feet. "I think it will help." she said, nodding her head. "I'll have someone take you home, and we'll let you know about the MRI, okay?"

Roy ran his hands through his hair, relaxing back in his chair as the tension left his posture. "Okay. Thank you."

She pulled out her phone as she left the room, and made the necessary phone calls to Broyles and to arrange for McComb's release. The Bishops were waiting for her at the end of the corridor, lounging against the wall. Peter looked up as she approached.

"Hey. Nice work in there." he grinned.

"Thanks." she replied, looking away from his blue-eyed gaze uncomfortably. "Do you think you can help him, Walter?" she said, turning away from Peter.

Walter shrugged. "I really have no idea." he said. "But I can't wait to get inside that fascinating head of his and find out." He clapped his hands excitedly, and moved away down the passage. There had been a fevered look in eyes that made her wonder if she'd done the right thing.

As they followed Walter toward the elevators, she exchanged looks with Peter, and saw that he was thinking the same thing. He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "I'll keep an eye on him." he said softly, leaning close to her ear.

Olivia nodded, feeling her cheeks burn as she caught a whiff of his scent as he pulled away. He smelled faintly of shampoo and something else that was decidedly male. She increased her pace, closing the distance between herself and Walter as they reached the elevator lobby. As she drew close to him, he looked back over his shoulder, then darted for the elevator call button before she could push it, drawing a laugh from Peter behind her.

"Hey, Walter and I are going to get some dinner." Peter said, coming up beside her as they waited for elevator. "You wanna come with?" he asked offhandedly.

Olivia shot him a look, trying to determine if the offer was serious. He was staring up at the numbers above the elevator door, watching as they counted down to their floor.

"Agent Dunham." Walter said, spinning toward her before she could reply. "You look like you could use a little meat on your bones." He grabbed her wrist, pinching it between in his thumb and forefinger. "Yes, you should come with us." he said, nodding his head. "I know of an excellent late night diner."

Olivia glared, and pulled her wrist away, rubbing it absently with her other hand. Luckily, Peter hadn't noticed his father's grabbing at her, or he surely would have stepped in, embarrassing her further. She pictured how the seating arrangements would be in a booth at some greasy diner, and decided dinner with the Bishops would be awkward affair, no matter who she sat next to.

"Uh...I think I'll pass." Olivia said as the elevator arrived. "I think I'm just going to go home and get some sleep."

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**Here's part three of 1x03. Let me know what you think of it. Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

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**-Brighton, Massachusetts**

_**Olivia** was seated at an empty table. It was rectangular, with a faux wooden laminate surface. The laminate surface was beige. At one end of the table was a window. Sitting under the window on the tabletop was a wire mesh condiment holder. It was empty, the spaces reserved for bottles of ketchup and mustard barren, along with the two metal arches running down the center, which were missing their dessert menu. She was sitting in a booth, her weight pressing into the cracked vinyl cushions. The seat across from her on the other side of the table was empty. It was a diner. She looked around, trying to determine if she'd been there before._

_The lighting was a uniform bluish white, though she couldn't quite pinpoint the source. There were light fixtures, of course, and they were lit, but they seemed to be disconnected from the light she was actually seeing. On the wall above the row of nondescript bar seating, was a clock, all its hands stopped at 8:14. She stared at the clock, thinking the time seemed significant to her, but didn't know why. Her eyes dropped to the bar seating and then the bar itself. It was covered in dull stainless steel, with empty condiment holders sitting evenly spaced along its length. Beyond the bar was the kitchen, with its grills and fryers. The kitchen was silent, as was the dining room._

_Olivia twisted around in her seat, looking over her shoulder. The row of booths behind her were empty, in fact she seemed to be the only person in the restaurant. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall above the bar. Her eyes darted up to it, focusing on the moving second hand as it spun smoothly around on its axis._

_"So what do you think, Liv?"_

_She jerked in surprise, spinning toward the voice. _

_It was Peter, sitting across from her on the other side of the table. Her mouth gaped open as he picked up a menu off the tabletop, flipping it open. He was wearing a light brown blazer with a blue collared shirt. It was the same outfit he'd worn the day they met. The scruff on his chin and cheeks was thick as always, giving him that dangerous aspect he wore so well._

"_Peter?" she said, leaning away from him. "What are you doing here?" _

"_What do you mean?" he said, dipping the menu down to look at her. "I came here with you."_

_He'd called her _Liv_. Peter had never called her that before. She was about to comment on it when she noticed music was playing faintly the background. The music sounded familiar. As it grew louder she instantly recognized the twanging of the opening guitar riff to _Don't Fear the Reaper_. The song had always been a favorite of John's, and he'd played it to death before she'd banished it from her presence._

_Olivia glanced down at the menu in her hand, wondering how it had got there._

"_I love this song." Peter said, his eyes still searching over his options._

"_You do?" she said, feeling disappointed. _

"_What can I get you two lovebirds?" a familiar voice said at her shoulder._

"_Walter?" Olivia said, turning towards him. He was wearing a black tuxedo with a white bow-tie._

"_She'll get the six-ounce fillet, medium rare. I'll have the ribeye, rare." Peter said, handing the menus back to his father._

"_Excellent choices, sir." Walter said, not acknowledging she'd spoken. "This one needs a little meat on her bones." He grabbed at her wrist, squeezing it tightly._

"_Hey! Hands off!" Olivia snarled, throwing his hand away from her. "And I don't want a fillet." She hated when men tried to order food for her. John had tried doing it on their first date, and she'd nearly walked out on the spot. "I want the shrimp." she said instead._

"_Very good, madam." Walter replied, and moved away from them._

"_Sorry about that, Liv." Peter said, smiling an easy smile."I forgot you hate when I do that."_

"_Why are you calling me _Liv_ all of a sudden?" she asked."You've never called me that before." She noticed the smile he was wearing seemed a little off to her, but couldn't pinpoint why exactly._

"_Well, you didn't say anything, so I just let it go." he replied smoothly, his eyes intent on her face._

_Olivia froze. She'd heard that phrase before, or something very similar. John had said it to her. The day he'd been injured. The day everything had changed. There was something very wrong here. She found herself leaning away from him, again not recognizing the look on his face. It was still Peter, but it was as if he was wearing someone else's expressions, and they didn't fit on his face quite right. _

_The music, which had been playing at a tolerable level in the background, seemed to be getting exponentially louder with every verse. She looked around, trying to find someone to complain to. The only employee in sight was the cook, wearing his white chef's hat, flopped over to one side and an apron tied around his waist. He was singing along with music, his shoulders swaying with the beat. It was Walter._

"_Walter?" Olivia said again, beginning to rise from her seat, her eyes wide._

"_Plates up!" Walter shouted as he executed a spin move, sliding two plates down the bar top._

"_I love this song." Peter repeated. "Don't you, Liv?"he asked, tapping ketchup out of the bottle and on his fries._

_Olivia paused half way out of her seat, staring down at him. He was still wearing that strange grin, but it looked feral to her now, with the way his eyes were wide open. It wasn't her Peter. Her Peter wouldn't look at her like that. The music was deafening, reaching the point where it was getting hard to hear herself think anymore. She tried covering her ears, but it was a futile gesture. The volume increased again, and she gasped as it felt as if her ear drums were going to burst. She looked at her hands, expecting to see blood on them, but they were clean. The non-Peter was bobbing his head to the rhythm, the same the fucked up look on his face._

"_And here we are!" Walter said from her side. He was wearing the black tux again."Dig in!" he shouted with gusto._

_Olivia recoiled away from him, falling back into the seat across from the non-Peter. It registered in the back of her mind that she could hear Walter's voice perfectly over the ear-splitting music. Her heart pounded as he set their dinner in front of them. Her eyes fell to her plate and she covered her mouth, tasting bile in the back of her throat. It wasn't shrimp. She felt her eyes bulging, and realized her head was shaking from side to side rapidly, and had been for some time. Whatever that lumpy, gray…thing on her plate was, it wasn't shrimp. There were several strands of brown hair stuck to it, which drew her gaze like a magnet._

_She had to get out there._

_A knock on the window drew her attention. She turned hastily toward the noise and saw Charlie outside, standing on the sidewalk across the street. He held up his phone._

_The phone in her hand vibrated, and drawing her attention from the window. It was a text from Charlie. She read it quickly. _Bathroom. _Olivia pressed her face close to the window. Charlie was still outside holding up his phone. A city bus suddenly came to a stop in front of the window, blocking her view of him. The passengers inside were staring toward her out their windows, their faces frozen in rictuses of horror. The bus pulled away._

_Charlie was gone from the sidewalk. She gasped, her eyes darting around frantically for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. He'd left her. Blue Oyster Cult continued their assault on her senses, growing even louder if that were possible, trying to bludgeon her into submission._

_She had to get out of there._

_Olivia lunged out of her seat, shoving Walter to the side and sprinted to the exit. Or tried to. As she reached the bar, Cook Walter looked up from the chair he was bent over on the other side. There was a man seated in it, his arms hanging loosely on the rests on either side. The top third of his skull had been removed, exposing the gray matter of his brain. It was Roy McComb._

"_I just want it to stop." he said, opening his eyes and staring at her._

_Olivia's tried to keep her feet moving, but the air had thickened like molasses around her._

"_Keep still." Cook Walter said. "I need to get in there, see what makes you tick." He poked a probing finger deep into the gray matter._

_Roy McComb's eyes rolled back in his head and his body flopped in the chair like a fish out of water._

"_How was your dinner, Agent Dunham?" Cook Walter said conversationally, finger still in place._

_Olivia let out a wordless shriek and ran for the exit, the molasses having released her. She crashed into the doors, but they were stuck closed, no matter how she pushed or pulled. Turning around with her back against the door, she saw the Walters and Peter staring at her vapidly from across the diner. To her left a sign for the restrooms caught her eye._

_With her chest heaving, she raced under it and into the narrow corridor leading to the restrooms. She threw weight into the first door she came to, not caring if it was male or female. The door slammed open and she stumbled inside, crossing over to the sink and leaning over it on her hands, her breath rasping like she'd just run a marathon. The music ceased the instant the door swung shut behind her, leaving her in blessed silence. Her eyes fell on a drop of water as it landed the countertop. She touched it, and then felt her cheek. It was wet with tears. She lifted her head, staring at herself in the mirror, and barely recognized herself. She closed her eyes, trying to keep herself from losing it._

"_Liv." A voice whispered from behind her._

_Olivia spun around, her hand dropping to her waist for the weapon that wasn't there, looking around desperately for the source of the voice._

_The restroom was empty except for her. Hugging herself, she turned back toward the sink, intending to wash her face. She bent over the faucet, wetting her hands and then scrubbed at her face and eyes. As she finished, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes, then stopped, paralyzed at the sight in front of her. _

_Her reflection was gone from the mirror, and John Scott's bloodied face stared back at her instead._

"_Hey, Liv." he said with a wink._

Olivia woke thrashing wildly about on her bed. She couldn't move, her arms were constricted at her side by whatever was holding her in place. Panicking, she rolled to the side and fell off the bed onto her rug covered hardwood floor. The shock of the fall reasserted her sanity, and she relaxed and took stock of the situation, her heart still pounding.

She was on the floor of her bedroom, wrapped in her sweat-soaked comforter. It had all been a dream. A horribly deranged nightmare. The taste of acid in her mouth was the only warning she had before her stomach heaved, and she threw off the comforter, scrambling on hands and knees to the trashcan tucked into to the space between her nightstand and the wall. Fumbling for it, she was able to pull it toward her as the second wave of nausea hit, and she vomited up everything she'd eaten the night before, which admittedly, hadn't been much. The stench of sour whiskey hit her also, gagging her and bringing on another round of retching.

When she was certain her stomach was settled, she turned her head to the side, gasping with relief. After she caught her breath, she let herself fall back against the side of her bed and brought her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly.

_John._

Olivia had dreams about him since his death, but nothing like what she'd just experienced. He'd never spoken directly to her like that before, they'd been more like memories of them together that she re-lived. _Maybe I should have gone to eat with the Bishops_, she thought, resting her forehead on her knees. _Since I ended up going anyway._

After she felt sufficiently back to her normal self, she slowly climbed to her feet, and made her way to the bathroom to take a shower and brush the nastiness out of her mouth. As she brushed, she played back the dream in her head. She'd apparently been on a date. With Peter. Her toothbrush paused in her hand for a moment, before she resumed her motion determinedly. He'd called her Liv, and then he'd changed, taking on mannerisms that reminded her of someone else. Of John. What did that mean? And why had she dreamed of herself on a date with him, anyway? Like she could ever go down that road again, regardless of how attractive she may or may not find him. She wasn't completely naïve, and was aware there was a mutual…_something _between them, how could she not be with all the silent looks they exchanged. But she preferred to just call it friendship, and let it stay that way. Olivia decided to take his advice and try not to read too much into it. The business with Walter and McComb seemed obvious enough anyway. Dreams were just dreams, even the very insane ones.

Olivia finished her teeth and rinsed, then stopped short as she left the bathroom, seeing the time on her alarm clock sitting on her dresser. She was late, very late. How had she not noticed the time?

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" she said repeatedly as she rushed around her bedroom, throwing clothes on as quickly as she could. It was over an hour past the time she'd told Peter to have Walter at Boston General for Roy McComb's MRI! She was supposed to have met them there. The reason the alarm clock had failed to wake her was self-evident, once she took the time to inspect it. _Did you really need those second and third nightcaps last night? _A voice in the back her mind asked her rudely. Yes, she had needed them, thank you very much.

After dropping the Bishops off at their hotel, she'd been calmly sipping at her bourbon, checking the messages on her machine, when out of the blue a voice she hadn't recognized introduced herself as Peggy fucking Scott, wanting to know when they could get together. John's mother wanted to see her, in person. In her surprise, she'd sprayed Johnnie Walker all over her nice hardwood floor. How had the woman even known her home phone number? It was supposed to be unlisted. John must have written it down somewhere in his apartment, the bastard.

Olivia's hair was still wet when she left her apartment at a fast walk, taking the steps to the first floor two at a time, her booted feet pounding on the tiled treads. She nodded a greeting at a middle-aged woman as she passed her by in the hallway leading to the lobby of their building. She'd seen the woman around before, but had never but had never had the opportunity to interact with her more than she just had. The odd hours she worked gave her little time to get to know any of her neighbors, or keep up with the few friends she did have for that matter.

After glancing into her empty mailbox, she left the building, skipping down the steps to the street and looking to her right at her car as she pulled her keys and phone out of her pocket. She'd missed a call from Peter, and needed to find out if they were still at the hospital. The weather was chilly, her breath making little wisps of air as it condensated in front of her as she moved down the sidewalk.

"Miss Dunham?"

Olivia turned sharply toward the voice calling her name, nearly dropping her keys in the process. It was Peggy Scott, coming down the sidewalk toward her from the other direction. She had on a tan overcoat tied at the waist, with an off-white scarf wrapped around her eyes were blood-shot, and she'd been crying recently, which was understandable. Parents shouldn't outlive their children. It appeared she would be meeting John's mother after all. _Damn._

"Mrs. Scott...Hi." Olivia said, feeling at a loss for words. "I...uh...what are you doing here?" she asked stupidly.

Mrs. Scott took a deep breath, "I tried to catch up with you after the funeral," she said, "but the other agents told me you'd already left."

Had that been an accusation? Olivia couldn't tell. "I'm sorry." she said, gesturing with her car keys. "Obviously, I didn't mean to offend-"

"Oh please." the other woman said brusquely, cutting her off. "Don't apologize."

_Oh god, this is it_, Olivia thought. _She's going to blame me for killing her son_. Her stomach was churning as Mrs. Scott continued.

"I can only imagine how busy things must be for you." she said. "I just wanted to stop by to give you something." Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out a small, black case. It was thin, and hinged in the back. She pulled the case open, revealing two FBI Honorary medals.

Olivia recognized them and their significance immediately. She swallowed and nodded her head slowly. "I remember the day that he received those," she said softly, meeting Mrs. Scott's eyes, and then glancing back down at the medals. "For the Natler investigation."

John had received both the FBI Medal of Valor and the Medals for Meritorious Achievement for his work on that case. He'd always been very proud of them. She wondered if he'd already been turned, even back then.

"John's service to the Bureau meant a lot to him." his mother said, her lips pinched as she tried to hold back tears. She snapped the case shut, and held it out for her to take.

Olivia shook her head, eyes widening as she stared down the medal case. "Oh…I …I'm sorry… I can't accept this." she said, glancing between the case and her eyes, licking her lips. At the look of sad confusion on Mrs. Scott's face, she tried to elaborate. "John and I, we…uh…we didn't really end on the best of terms."

She winced as his mother looked down at the case, her hands trembling. _I am officially the worst person in the world_, she thought guiltily.

"Miss Dunham," she said, looking up and holding Olivia's eyes. "My son never spoke to me of the women he saw, not once." Pushing the case into Olivia's hands, she went on. "Until you. I believe he'd want you to have this." She let go of the case, forcing her to take it, or let it fall to the ground.

Olivia gripped the leather case tightly, "Thank you." she said contritely, trying to thin her lips into a smile.

Mrs. Scott nodded sadly, "You have a nice day, Miss Dunham."

John's mother turned and walked back up the sidewalk and climbed into a waiting taxi she hadn't noticed. The taxi pulled away from the curb, and their eyes met through the cab window as it rolled past, leaving her with a hollow feeling in her gut as she watched the vehicle until it was out of sight.

Olivia sighed, running a hand through her still damp hair. The day was already heading south, and she hadn't even left her apartment. She looked down at the medal case in her hands, wondering just what John had told his mother about her, and when. He must have told her he loved her, or was very special to him at least, in order for Mrs. Scott to want to give her the medals. Why would he have done that if he didn't mean it?

_It doesn't change anything_. She thought fiercely as she made her way to her vehicle, tapping the case against the palm of her hand. _He still tried to kill me._

She unlocked her car and slid behind the wheel, depositing the medal case in her glove box, to deal with at another time. Pulling out her phone, she dialed her voicemail and listened to the message Peter had left her, thinking that if anyone could understand oversleeping, it would be him.

* * *

**Peter** checked his watch for the third time since they arrived at Boston General. He walked over to the window near the entrance to the MRI waiting room and glanced up and down the corridor outside, looking for their wayward leader. It was amusing that he and Walter had actually arrived earlier than the time she'd texted him the night before, and that it was Olivia herself who was holding things up this morning. He couldn't wait to give her shit about it. _Well, not too much shit_, he amended._ Maybe a gentle ribbing_. Her temperament could be uncertain at best, and he preferred staying on the good side of the golden-haired agent if possible.

They'd been waiting for almost half an hour, and the MRI technician, a balding man with a flat nose, was starting to look anxious. Peter figured he probably had other appointments after theirs that they were cutting in to. Roy McComb was sitting on the patient table in the MRI room, already dressed in a hospital gown. His bare feet were dangling as he talked with Astrid while waiting for them to get started. Astrid had picked him up on the way in and they were already hanging out like old friends.

"There's no need to be worried, son." Walter said from his chair against the wall in the corner of the waiting room. "I'm sure Agent Dunham is just fine."

Peter turned from the window. "I'm not worried, Walter." he said, rolling his eyes. "Why would I be worried?"

Walter shrugged. "You've checked your watch at least two times," he said, getting to feet. "And that is the third time you've checked the window. Your behavior indicates a high level of anxiety or stress." He crossed the room and inspected cork-board with various health related fliers pinned to it, grunting in dissatisfaction occasionally.

"Or," Peter said, moving over to the window into the MRI room. "it indicates that I'm bored, and I want to get this over with." He crossed his arms, checking out the MRI scanner through the window. The white cube was an intimidating piece of equipment, with its uncomfortable looking man-sized hole in the center. Luckily, he'd never had the misfortune of being injured or sick enough to need one.

He knocked on the window, getting Astrid's attention. She looked up and nodded, patting Roy on the shoulder before leaving the room and joining him at the window.

"What's going on?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

"I think we've waited long enough for Agent Dunham to make her appearance." he told the junior agent. "What do ya say? Should we get started without the boss?"

"Fine by me." Astrid replied indifferently. "I'll let Roy know." She started toward the door to the MRI room then, then stopped, looking over at Walter before speaking. "I thought Olivia wasn't your boss? That's what you said, right?" she smirked over her shoulder at him.

"I don't know what you mean." Peter said, shrugging and feigning innocence. "I don't recall ever saying that." he lied, giving her his best smile.

"Uh huh." she said with pursed lips, leaving the room.

Peter informed the MRI tech that they were ready and he entered the MRI chamber, giving instructions to Roy and making sure he had removed all metal from his person. Roy pulled a necklace out from under his gown, gave the pendant a kiss, and handed it to Astrid for safekeeping. The tech instructed Roy to lie back on the table, wrapping him in a white strip off cloth, with strips of velcro to hold it in place around him, preventing him from removing his arms from his side.

"Hey, Walter." he called back to his father who still reading the cork-board. "We're ready."

Walter spun on his heels, his eyes wide with anticipation as he moved to the window. "It's about time." he said.

"So, what are we looking for, anyway?" Peter asked, watching Roy as he tried futilely to twist his head and look over his shoulder at the narrow hole he would soon be sliding through.

"If my hypothesis is correct," his father said, narrowing his eyes at Roy McComb, "and he is picking up the thoughts of another human being, it will leave a distinct signature."

"And you think we'll be able to identify whose thoughts they are?"

"Of course not, Peter, that's preposterous." Walter scoffed, giving him a pitying glance. "But...I may be able to intercept them." he said, tapping his chin with his thumb and index finger pensively.

Peter gripped his elbows tightly across his chest, trying to not grind his teeth at his father's rudeness. He gave his father a tight smile, and stepped to the side as Astrid joined them at the viewing window.

The technician sat down in front of the control console for the MRI, inputting a complex sequence of commands into the keyboard. He paused, then pressed a key on the console, and the table Roy was lying on began to slowly retract into the tube in the center of the scanner with the faint hum of an electric motor. On the center of the three monitors mounted above the scanner control console, a camera feed from inside the MRI scanner showed Roy's face as he slowly slid into view.

Peter could see the man was extremely nervous as he slid further and further into the narrow tube. His wide eyes were darting around the interior of the scanner as he struggled to maintain stillness, and his mouth was open slightly, his lower lip trembling as he came to a stop, fully inside the scanner. Astrid had her head tilted to one side, fingering the collar of her purple and black striped blouse uneasily as she watched the interior camera feed.

"Ah, this is such a magnificent machine." Walter said to the technician. "Do you mind if we view the axial images?"

The technician nodded, then hit another key, starting the scan. The MRI came to life, emitting a throbbing and unpleasant low-pitched humming sound, that set Peter's teeth on edge. The sound was loud in the little control room, so he could only imagine what it must sound like in the center of it. On the leftmost monitor a grid of images appeared, showing varying views of Roy's brain starting to come into focus. On the center monitor, his eyes were huge as he tried to remain calm, but was still clearly in some discomfort. They weren't more than twenty seconds into the scan when Roy started wincing in what looked like pain to Peter.

"His vitals are spiking." the technician stated, glancing over his shoulder at Walter.

On the monitor, Roy began to twist his head back and forth, his lips drawn back, exposing his teeth. The skin on his forehead was starting to protrude in several places, like little snakes or worms squirming under his skin, running from his hairline toward his eyebrows. As they watched, Peter saw the same protrusions beginning to appear on his cheeks and neck, growing in height and length with each passing second. They didn't look right at all.

"What the hell is happening?" he said, looking quickly between Walter and the camera feed.

"I have no idea," Walter replied, leaning closer the image on the monitor. "But I'm extremely curious to find out."

It occurred to Peter that if his father had a bag of popcorn, he would have been happily popping more into his mouth at that moment.

Roy began to gasp as his head swung from side to side, a look of stark terror on his face. "Something...something's wrong!" he cried out, gritting his teeth in agony. "Huh..huh...Help me!"

"Shut it down, now!" Peter said, before rushing into the scanning chamber, with Astrid following right behind him.

He grabbed the end of the patient table, and slid it out of the scanner as the humming sound wound down to a normal volume, then turned off completely. Roy sat up as soon as he was clear of the tube, his eyes wild and shoulders heaving as he sucked in a deep breath.

"You okay?" Peter asked, grabbing the man's shoulder to steady him before he could pitch himself backwards off the table. He watched as the bumps faded from his face almost immediately upon exiting the scanner.

"Uh...I think so." Roy gasped, breathing heavily. "What...what did that?" His voice was high-pitched with anxiety.

Peter didn't have the slightest idea what to tell him, and neither did Astrid, judging by the stunned look on her doe-eyed face.

"Something in the blood." Walter said from behind Peter. He moved to Roy's side and started removing the electrodes stuck to Roy's upper body. "A magnetic compound of some kind, dormant... perhaps a parasite."

"What's he saying?" Roy said to Peter, grabbing his forearm in a death grip. "I...I don't understand."

"The machine is basically a gigantic magnet," Peter explained, maintaining his hold on the man's shoulders. "And you've got metal in your blood. If we hadn't turned it off, it could've ripped your body apart."

"It would've been quite a mess." Walter agreed.

"Why would there be metal in his blood?" Astrid asked, looking between himself and Walter. "That's not normal, right?"

"Nope." Peter said, shifting his eyes away from the terrified look on McComb's face. It wasn't something he was equipped to deal with. He spotted something on his father's face...a sly look of recognition, perhaps, that made alarm bells trigger in his gut. "Walter...?" he said, pulling his father aside by the sleeve if his flannel shirt.

"Yes, son?" he said, trying to reclaiming his arm with a tug.

"Do you know something about this?" he whispered. Peter watched his father's reactions closely. There was a twitch under his left eye, and his eyes slid away from Peter's. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?" He let go of his sleeve, feeling Astrid's and McComb's attention on them.

Walter gaze shifted to Roy McComb then back to him furtively. "I...I'm not sure." he said and swallowed. "There is something...familiar..." he trailed off, his focus turning inward as he wrung his hands together. His father paced a few steps, his head inclined in thought, then suddenly swung back toward Peter.

"What?" he asked at the nebulous look on his father's face.

"We need to get back to my lab at once." Walter said, nodding and heading briskly for the door.

"Whoa, Walter!" Peter said, stepping after him and out the door. "What's going on?"

"I need my files, Peter!" he said, his voice rising with excitement as he traversed the waiting room. "I'm sure that there is...something...Belly...ahh, I just...can't remember!" He threw his hands out in frustration.

"Alright, Walter, alright." Peter said, putting an arm around his shoulder. "Calm down. We'll go to the lab, okay?"

His father nodded and relaxed, the manic look that had been forming on his face fading away.

Peter let him go, patting him on the back, and returned to the MRI chamber. "I'm gonna take him to the lab." he said to Astrid. "Meet us there?"

Astrid nodded, and looked over at McComb. "Why don't you go get dressed, Roy." she said, guiding him to the changing room. "Then I'll take you home."

Taking his leave of them, he gathered up Walter and left the building. On the walk back to the wagon, Peter tried calling Olivia's number, but had to settle for leaving a message when there was no answer. It was definitely strange that she hadn't shown up, and wasn't answering her phone either. He thought about swinging by her apartment on their way back to the lab, but it wasn't exactly on the way, and there was no way he could pull that off without Walter knowing what he was up to, and then he'd never hear the end it. Besides, he wasn't worried about her anyway, he told himself as he climbed behind the wheel and started up the old wagon. She could take care of herself, and didn't need someone like him to look after her. _Keep telling yourself that, Peter,_ a small voice said. _Maybe someday you'll actually believe it. _He did believe it. He had to, or it would be impossible for him to leave her, if it came to that.

.

"What are you even looking for, Walter?" Peter asked as he picked up another box of files and brought them over to the bench his father was sitting on. He'd already searched through four boxes since they'd arrived back at the lab. "You know, if you gave me a clue, I might actually be able to help." He set the box down on the floor next to others and sat down on the opposite end of the bench.

Walter raised a finger up, signaling what exactly, Peter didn't know, then dropped it, shaking his head and moved on to another file without responding. He mumbled something unintelligible to himself and snapped the next file shut also. He pushed the box to side, and opened the newest one he'd brought over, digging through it with alacrity.

"Wonderful." Peter said, crossing his legs out in front of him, then leaning back on the bench and closing his eyes. "Well, if you ever decide you do want some help, I'll be waiting." If his father wanted to do it all himself, that was fine with him. Maybe he could get a quick nap in while Walter was preoccupied.

He'd no sooner than closed his eyes when door banged open, admitting Astrid, who was arriving back from dropping off McComb. She stepped lightly down the steps and moved toward their bench on the wall outside Olivia's office.

"Hey guys." she said, coming to a stop before them. "Figure it out yet?"

Peter shook his head and yawned. "I wouldn't know." he said, waving a hand in his father's direction. "He refuses to tell me anything about what we're actually looking for."

Astrid gave Walter a determined look, then went and crouched down in front of him. "Dr. Bishop?"

Walter looked up at immediately, his hands frozen in their maniacal shuffling of file folders. "Oh, Aspirin." he said, his face breaking into a smile. "When did you arrive, young lady?"

"I just got here." She opened one of the boxes sitting next to him on the floor and flipped through several of the files. "Would you like some help going through these files, Dr. Bishop? It looks like a lot of work for one scientist."

Walter nodded gratefully. "That would be lovely, dear." he said, smiling and patting the bench next to him. After she sat down, he handed her a stack of files from the box he'd just been looking through. "Here, I believe we're looking for any files dating from '89."

Peter huffed, grabbing the box nearest him, and started shuffling through the file folders inside, looking for anything from that year. He caught a little grin on Astrid's face and turned to her, giving her a dirty look that drew a triumphant laugh from her, which in turn made him relax a bit. They had searched through almost all the file boxes Peter had brought out previously with no luck whatsoever, when Astrid rose to her feet, heading for the shelves of file boxes against the adjacent wall of the lab.

"Hey, you wanted to see everything from 1989, right?" she said, looking over her shoulder at Walter as she opened one of the boxes and pulled out a stack of files to go through.

Walter looked up from the stack he was searching through, eyebrows furrowed. He sat up straight, tapping his forehead as some thought occurred to him. "Uh..no. Perhaps it was '79."

"Perfect." Peter groaned, dropping the stack of 1989 files he'd found and been going through. "That's very helpful, Walter. I wish you'd have told me that before I-"

"Oh...oh stop!" Walter said suddenly, springing to his feet. He held up the file he'd been looking through. "This is it!"

"What is it?" Astrid asked.

"I was right." he replied, waving the file at her. "Belly and I worked on this very problem."

"Belly?" She said looking at Peter with confused eyes.

"Yeah, as in William Bell." he said, grinning at her reaction. "Founder of Massive Dynamic, and one of the richest men on the planet." Peter inclined his head toward his father. "He and Walter use the share this lab together."

Astrid looked suitably impressed, nodding her head in appreciation.

Walter shrugged. "He loved cloves. They had an awful smell." he said, looking up at the ceiling in remembrance. After a moment he froze, then focused on them again. Walking forward, he chopped at the air in from of him as he spoke. "We posited that there were a spectrum of waves lying outside of the range of those already discovered. We hypothesized that these waves could be used to communicate information. The government, of course, was extremely interested. It was a brilliant idea. A theory, but a good one." He stopped, and spun back around, holding up a finger as he worked through his train of thought. "They wanted to use the network to send their most clandestine information."

"Because if no other government knew the spectrum existed," Peter said, voicing his thoughts out loud. "Then they couldn't listen in." He had to admit that it actually sounded useful, and surprisingly sane for once.

"Yes!" Walter said, pointing a hand in his direction. "And they called it the _Ghost Network._" He handed the file to Peter as he strode past, continuing his explanation. "But, they asked us to take it one step further, to develop a method where they could transmit directly from one person to another."

_I guess I spoke too soon_, Peter thought as he opened up the file folder and started rifling through its contents. _Because that's insane_. The first page was a brief on the project, and it did appear to be exactly what he said it was. There were sheet after sheet of molecular diagrams, all labeled with ascending numbers and referencing different clinical trials. Near the back of the file were patient records, and signed release forms, stating their intent to volunteer for said tests of their own free will and without coercion. The patient file on top was Roy McComb's. There was picture of him paper clipped to the top corner of his record.

Peter stared at the name and picture in shock, as all the pieces feel into place. His father was directly responsible for what had almost happened earlier at the hospital. He looked up, jaw set as Walter went on.

"I surmised that I could introduce an iridium-based, organometallic compound into the subject's brain and-." His father was saying as Peter came out of his stupor.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Peter said, cutting him off before he could go any further.

"What?" Walter asked.

"Roy McComb was one of your test subjects!" He held up the file for his father to see.

"Of course!" Walter held out a shaky hand in front of him. "That explains it, doesn't it?"

"Explains it?" Peter bounded to his feet moving toward his father purposely. "Yes, that explains why he almost died today! Because you injected something into his brain nearly twenty years ago!" He jabbed a finger at Walter's chest as he closed the distance between them. He heard Astrid's footsteps approach them slowly from behind.

"No." Walter said, shaking his head firmly from side to side. "No. What I have him wasn't nearly enough to cause that reaction." His voice took on a pleading aspect as he went on. "The...the compound must have multiplied in his bloodstream over time. Environment...perhaps diet were-"

Peter had heard enough of his excuses. "He was a sophomore volunteering for psych experiments!" he said, leaning into his father's space. "Did you ever even bother to explain to him what you were doing to him?" He heard a door open and close in the background.

"Well, it wouldn't have been a very secret experiment if I had!" Walter retorted, his back stiffening.

"What's going on?" Olivia's stern voice said suddenly from behind them, sliding in between them like a wall. "How's Roy McComb?"

Peter spun toward her, and moved past Astrid toward the open door of the office. "Roy Macomb will be fine." he said, taking her in. She was okay. "No thanks to my father's attempts to turn him into a human walkie-talkie." he added. The small part of his brain that wasn't in a rage at that moment sighed with relief at the sight of her.

"Wait a second!" Walter's excited voice said behind him.

"Don't you try and change the subject!" he roared, spinning back around and stabbing his index finger at him. Seeing both of the women's eyes widen at his outburst, he took a took a deep breath, trying to rein in his temper.

"What you just said is on subject." Walter said, moving toward him and tapping the air in front of him. "The iridium-based compound that multiplied in his bloodstream has turned him into...some kind of receiver."

"A receiver of what?" Peter said skeptically, hands on his hips.

Olivia turned to him, then back to Walter, her eyes confused.

"Transmissions." he replied. "Someone else, it seems, and I'm somewhat jealous of this, has perfected our Ghost Network, and is using it to communicate." he said quietly, pinching the air in front of him with one hand. "Our dear Roy, is merely overhearing what they say."

"What's this ghost network?" Olivia said, looking to Peter for explanation.

"The Ghost Network," Peter said, "is my father's attempt to turn Roy McComb into swiss cheese by way of MRI." He stepped close to her and handed her the file Walter had found. At her raised eyebrows he added, "Or...it's a hidden wave spectrum that Walter and William Bell theorized existed, and then attempted to create a communication system that used it for the federal government back in the seventies."

Olivia glanced through the file, her eyes narrowing on McComb's record. She turned to Walter, "So how is something you did twenty years ago allowing him draw things before they happen?"

"Yeah, that's what I don't get." Astrid chimed in.

Walter appeared to consider her question, rubbing at his chin with two fingers before shrugging his shoulders. "Well...it's...how his brain is interpreting the extra sensory input, in layman's terms, of course."

"Of course." Peter said, shaking his head. "It all makes _so_ much sense now." Or not.

At Olivia and Astrid's blank looks, Walter stopped and held up a finger. "I do believe a demonstration is in order!" he said and started rummaging through the lab cabinetry, muttering to himself as he opened door after door. "Aha!" He turned, holding up what Peter thought was a slide projector, the black cord dangling at his feet.

.

It was in fact a slide projector, and astonishingly, Walter was able to remember where in his basement storage room he kept the slides he was looking for. He'd also found an old screen which Peter was setting up in the office, on the opposite end from Olivia's desk. After several tries to get the damn screen to stay down at the proper length, much to the Olivia and Astrid's amusement, judging by the giggles he heard behind him, he finally succeeded. When the screen failed to roll itself up for the fourth time, he backed away slowly, palms out before him, then exhaled a sigh of relief as he turned around to face the others. Astrid was grinning and there Olivia's full lips were upturned slightly, but there was merry glint in her eye. Walter merely stood impatiently, arms crossed, waiting for him to get out of the way.

"Well, I'm so glad I could provide today's entertainment." Peter said glibly as he crossed the room and took a seat between the two women. He narrowed his eyes in disgruntlement at Olivia when she glanced over at him, which made her smile openly. He let his gaze linger on her and wondered where she'd been that morning. Meetings perhaps? But then why would she have implied she would be meeting them at the hospital? Maybe she'd been out with late with someone, and hadn't even been at home when she'd texted him the details. The thought made a flare of irrational jealousy ignite in his gut. _You're being ridiculous! She just went to her dead boyfriends funeral!_ Her eyes shifted to him curiously, and he realized he'd been staring. He looked away hastily and scratched the back of his neck, hoping she hadn't noticed. _Besides_, the voice in his head continued, _aren't you thinking seriously about leaving?_

"Ahem." Walter cleared his throat, and hit the light switch, blanketing the small office in darkness. He turned on the projector, and advanced the slides until an image appeared on the screen.

The first image was a collage of blue, yellow, and black circular kaleidoscopes of different sizes, arranged in a pattern. Peter recognized it at once as the Rotating Snake Illusion, which he'd read about in some neuroscience magazine years ago, if he remembered correctly.

Walter walked forward until he was standing to one side of the screen. "Look closely at this illusion." he instructed them in a professorial voice. "You will note that kaleidoscopes give the impression of rotary movement, when in fact, there is none. If you focus on any single kaleidoscope, you will see that they are stationary." He clicked the advance button on the wired projector controller. "Next slide please."

The next image was another he recognized also. The famous rabbit-duck illusion, which Peter recalled being over one hundred years old. The would rabbit appear momentarily in his peripheral vision, but if he focused on the image directly, it changed to a duck. He'd seen this visual trick and others like it many times before. What they had to do with Roy McComb was not at all clear to him though. He looked up at the ceiling in annoyance, wishing his father would just get on with the explanation.

"Ah, it's an oldie but a goodie." Walter said dryly as clicked back and forth between two different colorings of the illusion. "As you observe this image, your brain perceives first a duck, then a rabbit, then a duck again. It always comes back to the duck." He turned from the screen, his eyes focusing on each of them in turn. "In truth, the image is neither. But it illustrates the brain's need to take random sensory input and construct it into a meaningful whole, despite-"

"Great." Peter interrupted, spreading his hands wide, his impatience with Walter's long-winded explanation getting the better of him. "Thank you. We get it."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Olivia said, looking back at him then at Walter. "I don't think I do get it."

"Well, neither do I." Peter replied sarcastically, letting his hands fall back to the desktop and leaning back in his chair. "I just want him to stop with psych class, and just tell us what he's thinking."

"I'll get the lights." Astrid said, getting to her feet and moving to the switch near the door and turning them back on.

"So what are you getting at Walter?" Peter asked, crossing his fingers in front of him. "You haven't explained Roy's ability."

"I suspect someone has continued my research." his father said. "But they've taken the easy way out, merely using the Ghost Network as a secure telecommunications channel."

"You're suggesting the Roy's listening into someone's telephone network?" Olivia said, her eyes on Walter.

Peter's eyes were drawn to the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks as she spoke. He noticed that her hair appeared to be slightly damp, and figured she'd probably showered recently, presumably at her apartment. He tried to stop thinking about her, after all, she was not, and never would be his. Tearing his gaze away from her, he tried to turn his attention to Walter's reply.

"Yes. But no, not listening." Walter shook his head. "Roy's brain is trying to interpret the additional sensory input." He walked away from them, then spun around. "Think of it like this, dear. Each of your five senses, has an associated organ or body part which allows your brain to express the input in a way that allows you to understand it." He pointed to his eyes, ears, and nose. "Your eyes take in light, and your brain parses it into your vision. Your eardrums detect vibrations which your brain processes into what you recognize as sound. Your nose-"

"We get it, Walter." Peter sniped. "Roy?"

"Yes...well in Roy's case," his father said to Olivia. "The compound in his blood is giving his brain another source of sensory input, but it has no frame of reference, no natural way of outputting the information in a meaningful way." He shrugged, twirling his fingers vaguely. "So...his brain is just...doing the best it can. Much as our brains grapple with the duck-rabbit. I told you, it always comes back to the duck." He fingered his chin lightly, his eyes vacant as he pondered some new thought. "Perhaps there is more of the compound accumulated in the visual centers of his brain, which is what's letting him see the visions."

Olivia nodded slowly, tapping her fingers on her desk idly. "So, if Roy's receiving this frequency, is there any way that we can tap in and hear them?" she asked dubiously. "Or maybe even ID them?"

Walter looked interested. "Construct a receiver using that spectrum?" he said, with a raise of his shoulders. "It's possible, of course. But it would take months." He hesitated, his expression ruminate. "But...it may be possible to redirect the transmissions from his visual centers to his auditory cortex."

"Wait," Astrid said, "you want to rewire his brain?" She sounded as uncertain as Peter felt.

"Not without his permission, of course." Walter replied slyly. "It would be a minor surgery." he said, his voice nonchalant.

"A minor brain surgery." Peter interjected, looking at Olivia. "Emphasis not on the minor." he added, wagging a finger. She gave him an amused half-smile in return before turning back to his father.

Walter shook his head, denying the assertion. "All I would need is a specific piece of equipment." he said eagerly to Olivia, like he was asking her for permission. "The magnetic neuro-stimulator I built in 1983. With a few adjustments...it would work." He finished, looking directly at Peter.

"Alright, we'll just go back in time and get it for you." He said mockingly, earning myself himself a disapproving look from Astrid.

"No need to." Walter declared. "It's most likely where I left it seventeen years ago. Hidden in a wall in our old house in Cambridge."

Peter shifted his eyes to Olivia. She lifted her eyebrows, inclining her head toward the exit. Well shit. It looked like he would be paying a visit to his old house on Irving Street.

* * *

**Olivia** walked beside the younger Bishop as they made their way across the Harvard quad toward the parking lot where she'd left her vehicle. The weather had warmed considerably since she'd had her run in with Mrs. Scott outside her apartment earlier that morning. The sun was out, and the sky was completely cloud free in all directions. All in all, it was turning out to be a very pleasant day. The kind of day for enjoying at a park, or maybe a street fair, she'd always enjoyed going to street fairs.

One of her favorite memories was of the first street fair her mother had taken her to in Jacksonville. They'd spent the day wandering between the craft tables and tents, fingering the stitches on beautifully embroidered blankets and inspecting the colorfully enameled pottery. There had been live music being played in the background, a jazz quartet on a small stage among the tents. It had been just her and her mom, and baby Rachel, with no stepfather there to ruin the perfect day. Oh, he'd been around then, but that day, he wasn't there. She never found out why.

Stepping around students going the opposite direction on the sidewalk, her shoulders occasionally brushed up against Peters, and one time her pinky grazed the fingers on his left hand. Which had prompted him to put his hand in his pocket. Now he was rubbing at the scruff on his chin with one hand, brooding about something, judging by the set of his jaw. She thought about her strange dream that morning, and hoped she could somehow avoid the topic with him.

"So...what happened this morning?" he said suddenly, his voice suspiciously casual. "Have a rough night?"

"Uh...yeah, I didn't sleep too well last night." Olivia said, tucking her hair back behind her ears. "I also forgot to set my alarm." She could feel her cheeks burning a little from embarrassment.

Peter leaned away from her, giving her a sideways look. "Why, Agent Dunham!" he chuckled. "I didn't think you had it in you!"

She arched an eyebrow and looked at him askance. "And what do you mean by that, exactly?"

"Well, you know," he said, tapping a finger on his chest. "Forgetting your alarm, and showing up late for work...that's always been something out of my playbook."

"Hey!" Olivia growled, elbowing him non too gently in the ribs. "That's the first time I've been late in months."

She thought about telling him about John's mother, but after a moment of deliberation, decided he didn't need to hear about her problems. He would probably turn all serious on her and ask her if she was okay, and then it would be awkward, and she didn't want to deal with that. Besides, she was enjoying the bantering between them.

"Admit it, Dunham!" Peter said, his eyes dancing as they reached her parking spot. "I'm starting to rub off on you, aren't I?"

"Yeah, you're right." she said gravely as she unlocked her SUV and slid behind the wheel. "I guess I'll have to leave you back at the lab from now on, Bishop."

"Ouch." Peter winced, and slammed his door shut. "Now let's not make any hasty decisions."

Olivia found she couldn't keep her agent demeanor in place as a laugh bubbled up. "So, where's this old house of yours?" she said, starting the engine and backing out of her spot.

"It's uh...over on Irving Street." he replied, his smile falling away as he gave her the directions.

She kept her eyes on him subtly as she followed the route he'd told her. Peter's good mood seemed to evaporate the closer they came to his childhood home. His posture became noticeably stiffer, and the muscles in his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth staring out the window at what must be familiar sights. When they pulled up in front of the house, he blew out a long breath, letting his head fall back against the head rest.

Olivia opened her door and got out, taking a moment to inspect the premises. The former Bishop homestead was an old three-story brown shingled home with a high pitched roof and gables over the upper floor windows. There was a gated fence parallel to the sidewalk, with shrubs running along its length. The front porch had white painted columns, with an archway over the stairs up to the front door. It was the kind of home she could see herself living in with a family someday, if she ever had one of her own. Something which at this point was questionable, at best.

Peter opened his door and got out a moment later, squinting in the sunlight at his old home. "Well, this is a blast from the past." he said unenthusiastically as he followed her through the gate and up the walk to the front porch.

"Is it strange coming back here again?" Olivia asked over shoulder. It would certainly be weird to see her old house in Jacksonville again, with everything that had happened there.

Peter grunted, "Just a bit." he said, climbing the front steps and looking around. "What's the game plan here? We just gonna knock on the door, ask them if we can tear out their walls?"

"Pretty much." she said, approaching the front door and giving it a few good whacks. She turned her ear toward it, listening for any footsteps from inside. The house was silent.

Peter moved over to one of the front windows, and peered in through the curtain. "I guess the badge is the pretty please in that equation."

Olivia knocked again, harder this time. She rubbed her at her knuckles, feeling irritated that no one seemed to be around. Now, she would have to have someone try and track down the owner, and maybe get a warrant if they weren't cooperative. All of which took time, especially the warrant. Time she didn't have.

"There's no lights on." Peter said, turning away from the window.

"I'm gonna call in." she said, pulling out her phone. "See if we can have someone track down the owner for consent." Moving away from the door toward the edge of the porch, she pulled out her phone and dialed the FBI offices at the Federal Building. Looking out over the front yard as she waited for an answer, she saw Peter move to the front door in the corner of her vision.

"What are you doing?" Olivia said as he pulled out a multi-tool and started jimmying open the lock.

"What?" he said innocently, glancing back at her. "This is barely even a crime. I used to live here." He twisted the handle and applied pressure with the multi-tool, and the door popped open, swinging slowly inwards. "Oops."

Olivia shook her head, then ended her call. "You've done this before." She should have known. Of course he had done this before, maybe hundreds of times for all she knew. He used to live here, after all.

"Maybe."

He passed through the doorway. She hesitated, then followed him inside, closing the door behind her. The interior was spacious with a tall ceiling in the foyer, and a set of stairs leading to the upper levels, against one wall. The walls were painted a deep red, and had a white wainscoting in need of new paint covering the bottom third. There seemed to be an inordinate amount of potted plants on the first level. They were everywhere she looked, of all different shapes and sizes.

Peter moved immediately to a bay window on the back wall of the house. He moved aside plant, and knelt down in front of an air register built in to the base of the wall. "Well, I don't remember it being quite so jungle-like, but it looks mostly the same." he said, as he opened up his multi-tool, and began removing the register. "We lived here when I was a kid, but after Walter was institutionalized, my mom couldn't afford the mortgage, so we moved down to an apartment in Allston."

Olivia crouched down next to him, watching as he worked the tool with dexterous fingers. Since he had brought up his mother, she thought it might be a good time to pry. "So where's your mother now?"

He smiled and shook his head. "That's a story for another time." he said without looking at her.

_Well, so much for that approach._ Olivia didn't know why she cared so much. She supposed she could just look up his mother's record and find out what had happened to her, but for some reason she wanted him to tell her himself. A file would just be words on paper, she wanted to see the emotions on his face when he told her the story.

"So tell me." he said, as he started on the last screw. "Of all the possible career choices, how did a girl like you end up in law enforcement?" His eyes met hers for a moment before returning to his task.

How did she end up in law enforcement? Olivia rose from her crouch, and looked out the window. "Well...I pretty much knew this was what I wanted to do by the time I was nine." she said, thinking back to that night with her stepfather.

_Do it!_ She heard his voice say again. She hadn't been able to.

"Really? When I was nine years old, I think I wanted to be a Brontosaurus."

Olivia smiled, picturing him as a nine-year old, running around and pretending to be a dinosaur. She bent over him again as he finished and set down his tool.

"You know," Peter said, pulling out the air register."They say the psych profiles of cops and criminals are pretty much identical. Ever consider a life of crime?" He reached inside, feeling around with his hand as he glanced up at her.

"No dental." she shrugged.

He chuckled through his nose, then pulled his hand out, shaking his head. "Nothing. Of course." he said, looking up at the ceiling. After quickly replacing the register in the wall and screwing it back down, he stood and looked around, rubbing his chin. He eyes froze on the doorway to the kitchen.

"What is it?" Olivia said, looking that way. She hoped he had another idea, because she certainly had none.

Peter entered the kitchen, and crossed over to a paneled wall in the corner next to a pantry. The wall was partially covered by some shelves that had been set in place for extra storage. He grabbed the shelves and slid them to the side, exposing what Olivia took to be a plumbing chase at glance. Using the blade of his multi-tool, Peter pried at the edge of a square piece of paneling. With a grunt, he pulled a corner out, and was able to wrap his fingers around the edge. The wood squealed as he pulled it all the way out, revealing a shaft with a ropes hanging down from above.

"A dumb-waiter." Olivia said, as he set the board on the floor. She'd always wanted a house with one when she was a girl.

"Yep." Peter said, pulling down on one of the ropes. There was a squeak, and the other rope moved in the opposite direction. "My mom had this covered up. I used to hide in it all the time." Using both hands, he continued pulling down on the rope and soon a platform rose into view, upon which rested a large black case and stack of file folders. "Jackpot."

He pulled the case out while she grabbed all the file folders, as there was no reason to leave anything behind. Setting the case on a nearby countertop, he opened it and pulled out a jumble of wires and metal tubing, all collapsed in on itself.

"Is that it?" she asked doubtfully as he held it up for her. It looked like something that belonged in a trash can to her.

"I guess so..." Peter said with a frown, turning the strange piece of equipment over in his hands. "It kinda looks like junk to me, though." He placed it back in the case and snapped it shut.

"We should get out of here." she suggested, looking at the time. They'd been in there for almost twenty minutes. It would be...unfortunate to still be in the house when the owners arrived.

Peter replaced the board over the dumb-waiter shaft, and then she helped him slide the shelves back into place. They grabbed the case and the files and moved toward the foyer.

Olivia was about to open the door to the street, when she noticed Peter wasn't behind her anymore. She looked around, and saw him standing at the foot of the stairs, looking upwards wistfully.

"Everything okay?" she asked, looking up staircase with him.

Peter glanced at her, "Yeah, I...was just..." He turned away from the stairs. "It's just weird being back here, you know?" His voice was oddly tight, for him. She suspected it had something to do with his mysterious mother.

Their eyes met and she nodded understandingly. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

As they left the house together, Olivia decided to try a different tack, and ask him another question that had bugged her almost since she'd met him.

"So tell me something." she said as they walked the short distance to her SUV. "Why do you call Walter, Walter?"

Peter laughed, his smile showing his teeth. "You've wanted to ask me that for a while haven't you?" he said as they reach her vehicle.

"Maybe." She leaned back against the front fender, waiting for him to answer.

He put the case in back seat, then moved next to her, and leaned over the hood on his elbows. He didn't speak for a moment.

"Believe it or not, you're not the first person to ask me that." Peter said, looking at her with one eye. "And I'll tell you what I told her." He turned around and mirrored her stance against the fender. "I call him Walter because that's what I've always called him. It's all I've ever called him, as far back as I can remember."

Olivia frowned, "You don't think that's a little..."

"Weird?" he said for her.

"Yeah."

"No." he shrugged. "It's his name, right?"

Olivia pulled her hair out of her face. "Yeah, but he's your father, isn't he?"

Peter laughed again. "Last time I checked, yes, he is unfortunately my father."

"And you've never called him Dad?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

Now that she had her answer, she was more confused than she'd been before she'd asked the question.

"Okay." she gave up, and moved around the SUV's front end to driver's door.

"Just go with it, Dunham." Peter said, getting in his side. "It's easier that way."

.

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**Here's part four of 1x03. Hopefully I'll be able to finish this episode in one more chapter. Thank you to everyone who's read so far and for any reviews you might have left. I love reading your opinions.**


	26. Chapter 25 - End 1x03

**Chapter 25**

.

**-South Boston, Massachusetts**

**Astrid** hurried down the corridor toward Roy McComb's apartment, hoping she wouldn't have to wait long for him. She'd called ahead after Agent Dunham had asked her to see if she could convince Roy to come in to the lab for some tests, as she called them. She shook her head, thinking that Agent Dunham was a little too comfortable acceding to Dr. Bishop's demands. There was no doubt that he was the source of the newly formed Fringe Division's success, but still, she was letting him mess around with the poor guy's brain. Maybe Dr. Bishop's initial success with her in that tank left Olivia more agreeable to his…ideas. She understood the need to catch whoever was responsible for the bus attack, but at what cost?

She reached Roy's door and knocked, then stepped back, waiting for the troubled man to answer his door. She heard footsteps approach, and the door cracked open, the brass chain across the gap indicating it was still latched. The single eye she could see was wide, as he started at her through the gap between the door and frame.

"Hi Roy." Astrid said, smiling and rocking back on her heels. "It's me, Agent Farnsworth." She waved her hand in a friendly manner where he could see.

His eye shifted up and down the hallway, then back to her before he shut the door momentarily. She heard the chain being removed from its latch and the door opened again, wider this time, as Roy stepped back so she could enter.

"Hey." he said weakly, gesturing for her to come in. "Sorry about the mess."

She crossed the threshold, looking around the interior of his place. Her first impression was that Roy McComb wasn't much for cleaning. Magazines and newspapers were lying unceremoniously in the middle of the hardwood floor near a coffee table. All of the drawers of a desk sitting against a wall were open, their contents sitting on the floor below. The rest of the apartment was in similar shape, from his bookshelves to what she could see through a doorway into a kitchen beyond. Surely he didn't live like this.

"This is a…nice place you have here." she said neutrally, noticing a red tint on his cheeks.

"I've been trying to get it cleaned up again..." He blew a lock of hair away from his mouth. "But I haven't really got very far yet."

Astrid realized that what she thought was Roy's disordered living habits, was actually the mess left behind by the FBI when his apartment had been processed. Her lips thinned with disapproval for her employer.

"I should be the one saying I'm sorry about the mess." she said, trying to reassure him. "After we're finished at the lab, I'll come back here and help you clean this up."

"You don't have to do-" Roy started, but she was having none that.

"No. I'm helping." she said firmly, nodding her head. "They shouldn't have left it like this. It's the least I can do."

Roy swallowed, looking down at feet. "Um…okay…thank you." he said, looking up and giving her a grateful smile, weak as it was. "I'll…uh…I'll just get my coat then." He turned and left the room through the doorway to the kitchen.

Astrid watched him go, saw the slump of his shoulders as he left her sight. She could only imagine how rough the last few days had been for him, hell the last year actually. Having these…impulses coming from nowhere, to becoming a suspect in major terrorist attack, and then to finding out he had something unnatural in his blood. That would be enough to drive anyone crazy. She looked around the living room, trying to find any evidence of family or friends that could offer him some kind of support. Most of the frames on the walls were crooked, but still hanging, though they all seemed to be of artwork, nothing personal. She moved over to his desk, but there were no personal photos or picture frames among the clutter atop it, either. He appeared to lead a solitary existence, if the room was anything to go by. It made her appreciate that she still had her Dad to fall back on, when things got rough. She turned from the desk as Roy returned, coat in hand.

"You ready to go?" she asked, moving next to him.

He nodded, throwing his coat over his shoulder. "Yeah…I…uh…I guess so." he said, licking his lips apprehensively.

"Hey, you're going to be okay." Astrid said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "We'll figure this out."

Roy nodded his head again, letting out a sigh. "I've…I've been going crazy!" he gasped, and wiped at his eyes. "I didn't know what do…that's why I went to the church."

"C'mon," she said, guiding him toward the door with a gentle pressure at his back. "If anyone can help, it'll be Dr. Bishop." She prayed he just didn't damage Roy in the process.

.

Astrid opened the door to the lab, and led Roy down the short flight of steps to the main level, smiling at his face as he looked around. He was wide-eyed as he took in the lab, and all its strange equipment. The old metal tank in the back corner and the piano sitting nearby in a strange contrast, seemed to confound him. When his eyes fell on the patient chair, with its surgical lights illuminated overhead, he swallowed heavily, glancing uneasily in her direction. She tried to give him a reassuring smile as she looked around for Dr. Bishop.

"Dr. Bishop?" she called, looking in through the office window. There was no answer and she moved over to the stairwell leading to the basement. "Dr. Bishop?"

There was no answer. Hopefully he hadn't wandered off while she'd been gone. She could almost see the look on some poor professor's face as Walter strolled into their classroom, saying God only knows what. Not to mention what Peter's reaction would be, especially after the shouting earlier.

"Is everything okay?" Roy asked, coming to stand beside her.

Before she could reply, there was the flush of a toilet, and the door to the small bathroom at the back of the lab opened.

Astrid let out a sigh of relief as Dr. Bishop strolled out, wiping his hands on his white lab coat. He saw them immediately and smiled, heading in their direction.

"Ahh. I was wondering where you'd run off to, young lady." He turned to Roy, extending his hand. "I'm Dr. Walter Bishop. I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you, but," he leaned forward as Roy took his hand. "I was in the bathroom relieving myself. Number two." he whispered, wiggling two fingers on his free hand.

Roy looked down at their clasped hands, then over at her, his lips drawn back in a frown. "Uh…we actually met…this morning." he said, prying his hand loose and wiping it on his jeans.

Astrid shook her head. She didn't know how Peter dealt with his father day in and day out. The yelling from earlier was starting to make a lot more sense now.

"Dr. Bishop," she said. "You remember Roy McComb, from this morning at the hospital, and the MRI?"

"Oh yes!" he said, holding up a finger. "The young man with the metal in his blood. I suppose we should begin, yes?"

"Um…yeah, I guess so." Roy replied, the unease returning to his face.

"It'll be fine." Astrid said, guiding him to the office, and pulling a patient gown out of one of the cabinets along the way. "You can change in here." she said, twisting the blinds closed. "Is that okay?"

Roy nodded, and she closed the door behind her on the way out.

"Dr. Bishop, did you wash your hands after you went to the bathroom?" she asked while they were waiting for Roy to finish changing.

He stared at her, his lips pinched with disgust. "Of course I washed my hands!" he said in an offended tone. "Don't you know what kind of bacteria lives in human feces?" He shook his head, "I simply find it difficult to believe a woman your age doesn't know this already! What are they teaching you kids these days?"

Astrid closed her eyes under his tirade, running her thumb and middle finger over her eyebrows. "I'm sorry," she said, recoiling and giving him an apologetic smile. "I...uh...didn't mean...uh..." she started, and then stopped, feeling her cheeks catch fire with embarrassment.

The outrage left his face as quickly as it appeared. "Oh, it's quite alright, dear." He leaned toward her slyly, "Actually, I do believe I forget to, from time to time." he tittered out of the corner of his mouth and gave her a conspiratorial wink.

"Dr. Bishop!" She glared at him, feeling her own outrage, and also somehow amused at the same time.

His sudden mood changes often left her off-balance and perplexed as to whether he was screwing with her, or his behavior was a symptom of his mental illness. If it was the latter, how could she get upset with him? If it was the former…she would have to watch him closely.

The office door opened and Roy emerged, barefoot in his pale green patient gown. He looked around uncertainly, his hands hanging loosely at his side.

Astrid hurried over to him, taking in his hesitant manner. "Can I get you anything?" she said. "A glass of water or a coffee?"

"Uh…no. I'm okay." he said, scratching at his forearm. "Well…actually…a water would be nice." He gave her an abashed smile.

"No problem." She said, moving to the faucet inset into one of the lab counters and grabbing a cup out of the cabinet overhead and filling it.

The poor man was clearly on brink of freaking out, understandably. It was worrying, as they hadn't even started yet. She handed him the glass, watching as he chugged it down in one huge gulp. He let out a gasp when he finished.

"Thank you." he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Excellent! Let's get started then." Dr. Bishop, clapped his hands, and then rubbed the palms together, running his eyes over the lab. "Ahh." He crossed over to a countertop and picked up a pen light. "Here, have a seat, Mr. McComb." he said, motioning toward the patient chair.

Astrid pulled on one of the spare lab coats, and helped Roy get situated in the old chair, thinking that his was not how she had envisioned spending her days when she'd graduated from Quantico.

Most of the skills she studied in school and at Quantico were useless here. What use were linguistics and computer programming in a lab like this? Still, the cases they were working on were important, like top-secret important, so she couldn't argue with that. That was the kind of assignment every would-be agent dreamed of getting when they were in training. And she got to work with one of the Bureau's finest profilers in Special Agent Olivia Dunham, even though she hadn't really been able to observe her in the field as of yet. Which brought her to Peter, and what his place was there. She didn't really know too much about him yet, other than that he'd been in Iraq when Agent Dunham had found him and brought him back. He'd apparently been able fake is way into a professorship, somehow. She got the sense that he might have been some kind of criminal before, which she had trouble reconciling with his sarcastic, but easy going manner. He was smart though, of that she was sure, maybe as smart as his father. His infatuation with her superior made the part of her addicted to romance novels swoon, as she watched to two of them work together. The fact that Peter was still in denial about it, made it even more endearing. Not that the older agent had given any real signs that she felt the same, but Astrid had noticed things, occasional subtle looks that Agent Dunham herself probably wasn't even aware she was offering. It would be interesting to see what, if anything, came of it over time.

Returning her attention to the more important matters, she adjusted the seat back, lowering it slightly to put Roy in a more reclined position. His grew wide as Dr. Bishop reached over him, adjusting the overhead lighting, and rivulets of sweat began to appear on his forehead.

"Alright Roy," Dr. Bishop said, flicking on his pen light. "I want you to stare straight ahead. Try not to focus on anything in particular."

Roy nodded, breathing out loudly through his nose.

Dr. Bishop leaned close to him and shone the light in his eyes, moving it slowly from left to right, his eyes narrowed on the Roy's face. After repeating the motion several times, he flicked the light off.

"Hmm. Normal pupil response." he said to himself, straightening up and rubbing his chin absently. "Taking any medications, prescribed or illicit? You can be truthful. I won't judge. In fact, if the answer is no, I may encourage some drug use."

"Uh...no. None."

"Hmm, that's too bad." Dr. Bishop replied. "Any food allergies?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Roy replied, wetting his lips uneasily.

"Good, good." Dr. Bishop said, nodding his head. He looked over at Astrid. "This all checks out. Strap him down, and we'll get started." he drawled, moving away from the patient chair. He began rummaging through the cabinet in which he kept vials of drugs and chemical compounds.

Roy turned to her, "Oh god. Strap me down?" His dark eyes were wide as panic began to set in. He started to sit up, trying to pull himself out of the chair.

"Roy, Roy." Astrid said, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to give him a comforting smile. "There's nothing to be worried about. I'll be right here. Okay?" She gave him a pat on arm, keeping her gaze on him.

He nodded, then let out a breath and relaxed and fell back in the chair. She reached for the black polyester straps, crisscrossing them over his chest and clicking them into place.

"There. Is that too tight?"

Roy shook his head, looking up at the ceiling. "I guess…uh…it must seem pretty silly to you." he said after a moment. "Thinking that God is talking to me and everything."

"Hey, you're handling all of this a hell of a lot better than I would." she told him, trying to boost his confidence a little. "What else were you supposed to think?"

"Uh…that I was…just crazy?" he said with a shrug. "I considered that, too."

Astrid giggled and after a few seconds, he joined her, a slow grin forming as he acknowledged his unintentional humor. It felt good to help pull him out of his dark place.

Her father had always wanted her to follow in her mother's footsteps, and become a nurse like she had been. When she'd told him her career choice, he hadn't been disappointed exactly. He'd said that world was losing a great caregiver, but that he understood. She thought she understood him too.

"It's gotta be sort of a relief, right?" she said after a while. "Knowing there's a rational explanation for it?"

Roy snorted, "I…wouldn't exactly call any of this rational." he said, looking around the lab and at Dr. Bishop. "Do you really think that this is going to help you catch the guys that killed those people on the bus?"

"You're our best lead." Astrid said, and patted his hand. "Our only lead, really. No pressure, right?"

She moved to the side as Dr. Bishop approached, a syringe in one hand. He placed it on a tray sitting next to the chair and began prepping Roy for an IV. With a practiced hand, he smoothly inserted the catheter then taped it off. After connecting the IV bag, he picked up the syringe, tapping out any air bubbles.

"You'll need to be awake for the procedure," he announced. "But I'm going to give you a mild sedative to reduce any anxiety you might have." He inserted the syringe into the injection port and depressed the plunger.

"Dr. Bishop?" Roy said, looking at him intently. "You look…really familiar to me."

Astrid froze, looking back and forth between them. _Oh no. Please don't say anything Dr. Bishop! _She thought, trying to will him not to respond.

Dr. Bishop smiled and nodded his head. "I heard that a lot," he said, and turned away from the chair. "in the mental institution where I used live."

Astrid saw Roy's eyes go wide for an instant as they met hers, then they went dull, as whatever drug he'd been given started to kick in. His head fell back on the cushion, a little smile on his face.

"He'll need a moment." Dr. Bishop said, coming to stand beside her.

The lab doors abruptly swung open, announcing Agent Dunham and Peter's return.

"Oh!" Dr. Bishop said, swiveling toward the sound. "You've returned! How is the old house? How's Rufus?"

_Rufus?_

Peter stepped lightly down the steps, carrying a large black case, with Agent Dunham following after holding a small stack of files.

"Well, the house is about the same," Peter replied dryly, setting the case down in front of his father on a table. "but…uh…we put Rufus to sleep almost twenty years ago."

"Oh…that's terrible news." Dr. Bishop said in a wobbly voice.

Peter huffed and rolled his eyes but made no response.

"Walter, we found your equipment." Agent Dunham said, laying a hand on the black case.

"Oh!" he said, reaching forward and opening the case. He pulled out a mass of metal tubes, with wire woven throughout and dangling down from a wire harness.

Astrid watched as Peter and Agent Dunham exchanged glances, some silent communication passing between them. After a moment, Peter shrugged and turned his attention back to Walter, a skeptical look on his face. Agent Dunham let her gaze loiter on Peter for a moment before turning back to Dr. Bishop also.

She covered an involuntary smile with her hand after watching the interaction. The two of them were adorable; they were actually unconsciously mimicking each other's hands on hips stances.

"Ahh, this brings back some memories." Dr. Bishop said, holding it up for inspection.

"Of what?" Peter asked, narrowing his eyes at the equipment.

His father ignored him and set the equipment down on the table, then moved toward the stairwell to his storage room. Peter shook his head and went after him, an annoyed look in his face as he followed him down the steps and out of view.

Astrid turned to her superior. "Did the owners give you any trouble about wanting to search around in their walls?"

"Uh…not exactly." she replied feebly, running her hands through her long hair.

"What is it?" Astrid said, noticing a pink tint on the other woman's cheeks.

"They uhh…" Her head shook minutely. "They weren't…" She broke off and glanced at Peter, coming up the stairs ahead of his father, carrying what looked like some kind of white body armor.

Astrid gaped as she realized what the two of them had been up to. "You didn't!" she gasped.

Agent Dunham's face turned scarlet, and she turned away from the men, pulling her aside. "Peter just…it was his old house…and he just, sorta…knew how to jimmy the front door open." she finished in a rush, her voice low. "If you want to report me, I'm fine with that, but, we just don't have time to wait for a warrant."

Astrid couldn't believe what she'd just heard. They had actually broken into someone's house! Of course she wasn't going to report them, but still, they'd broken the law. Perhaps part of being a full agent, was knowing and understanding that there were shades of gray, and not everything was always black and white.

"Don't worry," she said, giving Olivia's hand a squeeze. "I think I get it."

* * *

**Peter** helped Walter with the neuro-stimulator's support harness as they attempted to put it on the obviously high as a kite, Roy McComb. His lazy eyes drifted between the two of them as they struggled to get the straps under his armpits and over his shoulders.

"What did you give him, Walter?" he asked, grinning at the dazed expression on Roy's face.

"Eh, just a little Valium." Walter replied as they finished their task. "Twenty milligram dosage."

"Twenty?" he said with a wince. "You don't think that's a bit high?"

"I'm about to drill into his cranium, Peter." Walter said patiently. "Do you want him moving around or to be relaxed?"

Peter considered it and supposed Walter had a point. Sudden movements would not be good. "Fair enough."

"Good. Now help me with this."

Walter picked up the neuro-stimulator and carefully began separating all the wires and unfolding the metal tubing that would attach to the support harness. There was a metal ring that Peter assumed was to fit over Roy's head. His eyes slid to the large screws that protruded from the ring. They looked very unpleasant.

When Walter was finished assembling his equipment, Peter helped slide it into place over Roy's head, whose eyes were wide as he tried to see look up and see it on his forehead. Once they attached it to the support harness, he stepped back, observing the result. Olivia and Astrid joined him, staring uneasily at the contraption.

"Walter," he said, scratching his head, "did you make this look like a medieval torture device on purpose?"

"I went for functionality over aesthetics, son." his father said, connecting the wire harness to an old power supply that looked like it was older than he was. "Do you like it?"

"Well, as far as torture devices go," he quipped, "I'd say you hit the spot."

"Now what?" Olivia said, giving him an impatient look.

"Now…" Walter picked up a surgical drill from its tray next to the chair. "I believe it's time for some intra-cranial penetration." He squeezed the trigger, and the tiny drill whirled to life.

Peter noticed Olivia glancing from Walter to the drill, a sick expression on her face. He wondered what that was about. His father hadn't even started the procedure yet, and she looked like she might throw up.

"This might feel a touch…odd." Walter said to Roy, as he leaned in close with the drill.

"Uh…okay." he replied dazedly.

Placing the drill tip into one of the small holes which encircled the ring, Walter squeezed the trigger.

A sudden knocking at lab door caused them all to jump back.

"Excellent." Peter muttered, wiping his hand across his forehead. Perfect timing.

"I'll get it." Olivia said quickly, hurrying across the lab and up to the door. She cracked it open and stuck her head out. A moment later she was back, an amused look on her face.

"Who was that?" he asked, as Walter started the drill again.

A trickled blood ran down Roy's forehead, which his father wiped away with a wipe. He motioned for Peter to step forward with the strange electrodes he'd given him earlier.

"Freshmen." she said with a shrug. "Looking for Poli-Sci 101."

"I don't think that's even in this building." Peter muttered, gritting his teeth as he gently screwed an electrode into place in the hole his father had just drilled. The tip of the electrode passing into Roy's cranium was one of the most disturbing things he'd ever felt, as it caught on the edge of his skull momentarily, and he still had five more to go. With a grimace he pulled away, thinking that this procedure, as Walter called it, was royally fucked up.

In quick succession they repeated the process, and Peter's jaw ached from holding his stomach in check by the time they finished. He was beginning to believe he wasn't cut out for this kind of work, or rather, this had just reaffirmed that belief.

Walter guided Astrid to the power supply. "I need you to keep this dial steady at sixty hertz, ten gauss, until I tell you otherwise, dear." he said, pointing at one of the knobs on the front of the power supply.

Astrid nodded, and took her to her station with a determined look. Olivia stood off to the side, hands on her hips and an anxious look on her face as her eyes flicked from Roy to Astrid to Walter. Peter suspected that she was wanting some task of her own, to feel like she was contributing in some way. She was welcome to the screwing-into-Roy's-brain job if she so desired.

"I believe there are clusters of metal in the visual centers of your brain, Mr. McComb." Walter said, coming to stand before him, holding the neuro-stimulator control module in one hand. He gestured to the side with his other hand as he continued. "I'm going to attempt to move them to those regions which process sound. You'll be shown a series of images." He looked toward a stack of pictures lying on the counter nearby, prompting Peter to retrieve them. "I need you to tell me any sensations you experience as you see each image."

Roy, who seemed to be coming down from his Valium high just a bit, licked his lips. "Sounds easy enough." he said, looking glancing over at Astrid, who gave Roy an encouraging smile.

"Alright," his father said, motioning at him. "The first image, please."

Peter held up a black and white image of horse, viewed from the side.

Roy eyes widened as he stared at the picture. "It's a horse." he said after a moment.

"That's wonderful." Walter said. He looked over at Astrid, "Fifty gauss, please."

She nodded, and twisted the dial clockwise, spiking the needle on the meter on the front of the power supply.

"Gahhh!" Roy groaned, his eyes crossing momentarily, and lips drawn pack in a grimace of pain. "What the hell was that?" he gasped.

"Oh, that was just your body's normal muscle response." Walter replied offhandedly, making adjustments with the knob on the control module. "It's perfectly natural. You may also experience an involuntary bowel movement."

"Great." Peter said, closing his eyes.

"Next image, son."

Peter flipped to the next picture, which was an image of an antique car. An old Caddy maybe? He couldn't tell from the upside down view he had.

"Oh, man." Roy said, swallowing and wetting his lips. He closed his eyes and focused on whatever sensation he was experiencing. "Mmm...oh...his is bad. Oh, this is weird. Uh, I...I'm...I'm tasting...uh...dirt. Uh...no wait...it's...uh...gasoline."

"Good!" Walter said, grinning and making further adjustments with the controls. "We've reached the gustatory cortex. We're getting close. Next image, please."

Peter could see Olivia grinning also, arms crossed under her breasts, out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't help but think that there was something very wrong with that. He flipped to the next picture. It was of a river, or beach or something.

"I don't know, it's a beach?" Roy said, with sweat starting to run down his face. He looked at Walter then over at Astrid.

"Well?" Walter barked, "Is that it? No sensations at all?"

"I don't think so." he replied, looking at Astrid again. She in turn, looked at Walter, eyes narrowed.

"Damn it, don't you feel anything?" Walter snapped. His lips were drawn back, exposing his teeth and his eyebrows angled down in anger.

"Uhh...I'm a little scared." Roy said, eyes darting around the room, his face now drenched in sweat.

"I don't understand." His father growled, beginning to pace around the patient chair. "This should be working!" He smacked his hands together, the sound loud in the silence of the lab.

Peter realized he was about to go into one of his manic episodes, "Walter...take a deep breath." he said, putting down the pictures and moving after his father. "It's gonna be okay."

Walter whirled suddenly, pointed over at Astrid. "You! Increase the level to two hundred gauss!" he said, as Roy began to say something in the background. He picked up a syringe, and stuck the needle into the IV injection port.

"Don't do that!" Peter said to him before he could depress the plunger. He thrust a hand in Astrid's direction. "Stop, I said!" The situation was starting to spiral out of control, and he was hitting the pause button, before something unfortunate happened.

Astrid complied, and straightened up as Roy began speaking again.

"Quando fiet." he mumbled quietly.

"What did you say?" Olivia said, leaning forward abruptly.

"I don't know. I can hear voices." he said, a bewildered look in his face. "Una hora locum statuisti." he intoned, staring wildly between them, eyes wide.

Peter cocked his head, replaying the words in his head. They sounded familiar. "Is that Latin?" he said. "I think that's in Latin."

"It is." Astrid nodded. "He just said, um...damn, what's that word?" She closed her eyes in thought, "Hora, um...hour. Something's happening in an hour." she said confidently, looking at Olivia.

"How in the world can you possibly know that?" Peter asked, impressed at her knowledge. Latin was a dead language, hardly anyone but a few priests in the Vatican spoke it these days, and apparently, the people using the Ghost Network.

"I majored in linguistics." she said, a pleased look on her face. "Though my Latin is admittedly, a bit fuzzy."

Olivia approached her, pen and pad of paper in hand, "Nice job, Astrid. Keep going." she said, handing them both to the junior agent.

"Ad stationem."

"Ad stationem," Astrid repeated, jotting the words down. "that means station, I think."

Olivia looked anxiously between her and Roy, chomping at the bit for more information. Glancing over at his father, Peter saw a self-satisfied smile on his face as he watched them all, leaning against a counter arms crossed.

"Orstreelum," Roy said, then winced as he attempted to shake his head. "No wait, it's Australem ob."

Astrid nodded, "Australem means south and then..."

"Commerciam convenimus." Roy continued, looking rapidly between the two women.

"An exchange is being made." Astrid said, staring down at her pad as she wrote out the phrase. "Um...an exchange at South Station." She looked up, her eyes meeting Olivia's. "I think someone's meeting at South Station to make an exchange in an hour."

"Bene ubi fuit."

Astrid narrowed her eyes. "He just said, 'Good, where was it.'"

"Ab initio in eius corpore fuit."

"From the beginning, on her person?" Astrid translated, a puzzled look on her face. "It was on her person." She looked over at Olivia, who had stunned look on her face. "It was on her from the start? Maybe or-"

"She had it on her the whole time." Olivia said, grabbing the file which contained Roy's drawings.

"Oh yeah," Astrid nodded. "that's a possible translation, also."

Olivia pulled out one of the pictures, and stared at in dismay. "Oh my god." she said, putting a hand on her forehead. Without warning, she threw the picture down and rushed for the exit, grabbing her coat off the back of lab chair on her way out.

"Hey! Olivia!" Peter called after her. "Where are you going?"

The lab door swung shut behind her with a bang as they all looked at one another in confusion. Peter picked up the picture Olivia was looking at. It was the one depicting a faceless woman, with bright red blood dripping from the palms of her hands. He passed it to Astrid who shrugged, clearly not getting the connection either.

"Well." Walter said, taking a bite of a red vine. "That was unexpected."

* * *

**Olivia** flew through the light blue double doors leading to the morgue in the basement of the Federal Building. A blue gowned medical examiner stepped to the side, his back against the wall, as she sped by him down the corridor and through another set of doors leading into the morgue itself. Though the temperature was near freezing in the cold chamber in which Evelina Mendoza's body was being stored, it barely registered with her. Her thoughts were racing, the predominant one being that she hoped like hell she was wrong. If she wasn't wrong, and her gut was telling her she wasn't, then Grant Davidson was likely one of the voices talking through Roy McComb on the Ghost Network.

She looked around the chamber, not sure which of the many square stainless steel doors lining the walls on either side of the room housed Mendoza's body. She chose the wall to her left as it was closest, and began examining the labels clipped to the front of each door. As luck would have it, she'd chosen the correct wall, as she found the correct door almost immediately, near the middle of the row.

Grabbing the latch, Olivia threw open the door, grimacing slightly at the faint smell of decay that greeted her. There was a body on the shelf inside, of course, draped in a white blanket. She grabbed the handle and pulled, and the shelf slid outwards with the feel of well-oiled precision. Stepping to the side of the body, she peeled back the cloth at the end, just to make sure it was indeed Evelina Mendoza. It was. Stepping to the side, she lifted the cloth at the mid-section, exposing the woman's arms and hands.

On Mendoza's right hand, a deep gash crossed her palm, the congealed blood making an X in the center. Her lips thinned as it all became clear. She heard Grant Davidson's voice from the other day.

_I've been asked by our office to officially ID her body._

_I suppose that won't be a problem?_

_I…I didn't realize how hard this was gonna be._

_If you don't mind, __I'd uh…I'd like to say good-bye._

The son of a bitch had had the balls to cut Mendoza up right in front of her. She quickly replaced the cloth, and then slid the body back into its cubby and slammed the door shut. Fleeing back in the direction she'd came, she went straight to her SUV, deciding that she would brief Broyles by phone on the way to South Station. There just wasn't time to do it in person.

Pulling out of the Federal Building garage, she dialed his number. He answered, as usual, on the first ring.

"Broyles."

"Sir! It's Dunham." she said, talking through her bluetooth as she sped through the busy streets of Boston toward South Station. "This is gonna sound crazy sir, but Grant Davidson was...or is part of it somehow, the attack on the bus."

"Excuse me?" he said flatly.

"There was a three-inch incision in Evelina Mendoza's right palm." she said, dodging around a car attempting to parallel park. "Whatever the people that attacked the bus were looking for, she had it on her, and Davidson cut it out when he ID'd her body. She was hiding it in her hand. I'm heading to South Station now. We think he's planning a hand-off at five o'clock."

"We have to assume Davidson's working for the same people who hit the bus." Broyles said, his breathing was audible through the phone as he was probably rushing through the halls of the Federal Building. "I'll notify C.I., but in the meantime, I'm sending the field assist your way."

"Plainclothes only." she advised, "We don't want to tip him off."

"Of course." he replied wryly. "It's not my first time doing this, Dunham."

"Alright." she replied, smiling despite the grave situation. "I'm about five minutes out."

"Okay. And Dunham?"

"Yes sir?"

"Good work." he said, and cut the connection.

She reflected for a moment on how different things were between her and her superior now, as opposed to shortly after they'd met. That day at the airport, she could never have imagined him uttering those words to her. Of course, she thought they'd both changed a lot since then. Glancing down at the phone still in her hand, she got back to business.

Olivia dialed Peter's phone. He didn't quite answer on the first ring, but she couldn't blame him for that. Broyles was a tough standard to live up to.

"Peter. It's me." she said after his hello.

"Olivia!" he said in a rush. "Where did you go?"

"I'll tell you later." she said, catching the first sight of South Station in the distance. "I'm on my way to South Station. Has Roy said anything else?"

"Not yet." he replied. "Although Walter claims Roy might be able to receive satellite TV for free." She could hear that grin of his through the phone.

"Uh...okay?" she said, shaking her head. Walter's voice was in the background, ranting about one thing or another.

"Don't worry about it." he laughed. "I'll let you know if he has anything else to say, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks."

"See ya."

She ended the call just as she approached the block on which South Station was located. It was an old building, styled in the classical fashion with a granite block facade, and situated at the corner of Atlantic Avenue and Summer Street. The corner of the building at the intersection was rounded off, with three large archways centered on its radius, and a line of columns above the archways sweeping around the building to either side. Above the main entrance, the sign proclaiming it's name was displayed prominently. A large clock sat alone atop the facade, centered above the main entrance, upon which a statue of an eagle proudly rested. With her job, Olivia didn't use the public transit system often, but she'd always liked its old world architectural style.

She pulled over down the street from the station, not caring that she was in a no-parking zone, and got out. As it was close to rush hour, the street was crowded with pedestrians, and she felt that she had plenty of cover as she made her way through the entrance and into the main terminal. The interior was vast, with high ceilings and windows from floor to ceiling running down each exterior wall. The arrivals/departure screen with its orange on black text was huge, and dominated the space visually.

The concourse was packed with business men and women, families and people of all races and nationalities, hurrying to the bus, train, and subway stops located within. In other words, it was typical Boston afternoon. She hoped Peter called soon with something more specific, or this day would likely not end well, for the good guys at least.

Looking around Olivia spied a coffee shop off to one side, that looked like it would good for surveilling the area. Taking up a position near the counter, she lounged against it watching the never-ending stream of people walk past, their faces becoming a nondescript blur.

Her phone buzzed, and glancing down at it, she saw that Charlie had arrived, and was currently heading in from the west entrance off of Atlantic. She sent him a quick message back, giving him her location. As Olivia waited, her impatience grew along with her anticipation for another phone call from Peter, so that when the call finally came, she had the phone to her ear and was saying hello before the sound of the first ring had died out.

"Hey, Roy's talking again." Peter said. "Are you at South Station?"

"Yeah. Inside the main terminal." she said, keeping her eyes peeled to the people moving past her.

"They're there already."

"Shit. Where?" She wanted to start looking around frantically, but her reason told her it would be the surest way to draw attention to herself.

"Don't know." he replied. "They're checking to make sure your man wasn't followed. That's all for now."

"Okay." Olivia said ending the call.

If they were checking to make sure he wasn't followed, it was reasonable to assume that Davidson wasn't inside the building yet. Stepping into the flow of foot traffic, she began making her way toward the exit to the subway platform, intending to search every car if she had to. She sent Charlie another text, informing him of her change of plans, and left the main concourse.

The subway platform wasn't quite as crowded as the rest of the building, and she was able to make good time as she walked along the line of subways trains, looking through the windows to the interiors of the cars, and keeping an eye on the crowd at the same time. People were constantly entering and exiting the subway cars, and after a while she thought it might be easier to search from the inside. Moving forward down the raised platform, she slipped through the pair of sliding doors and into the brightly lit interior of the next subway car.

The subway car was sparsely populated with passengers, ranging from an old black ladies to a young man with a buzz cut to middle aged men working on their laptops. There was an oily smell in the air that irritated her nose, another reason she didn't like taking the subway. She moved down the aisle, running her eyes over each passenger. Occasionally they would make eye contact with her, and give her a questioning glance, but mostly people just minded their own business, and didn't acknowledge her presence. None of them were Grant Davidson, however. Continuing down the aisle, she moved on to the next car.

There were less people, a woman with several small children, fussing about their seating arrangements and a young couple, huddled together on the far end. They looked like they might start going at it, right there in the subway car. With a toss of her head, she moved past a pale-faced bald man in a dark suit, standing with his back against the side of the car, and continued to next car, and the next, until she was forced off by the trains eminent departure. Davidson would not be leaving before making the exchange.

Olivia headed back into the main terminal, intending to cut across the concourse to the exit on the opposite side of the building. Making her way through the throng of people, she almost didn't hear the ringing of her phone over the cacophony of voices and announcements coming over the stations public address system.

"It's happening! They're sending him inside." Peter's excited voice told her when she held her phone up to her ear. "He's heading toward the Dewey Square exit, from the south."

Olivia nodded, feeling a rush of adrenaline flow through her. "Thanks, Peter." she said, ending the call. She dialed Charlie's number as she turned towards the south end of the building.

"Francis." his gruff voice came over the line.

"Charlie! We got him." Olivia told him as she increased her pace through the crowd. "He's at the south end of the terminal, heading north toward the Dewey Square exit."

"Got it."

Olivia put her phone away, and felt under her jacket for the holster at her waist, eyeing the multitude of people around her. The thought of having to use her weapon there, in the midst of the crowd, was distinctly unpleasant.

She moved closer to the south entrance, sidestepping around people and scanning the people approaching her from that direction. There were several uniformed Transit Authority personnel standing against the wall to her left; she hoped they wouldn't try to interfere. There wasn't time to show her credentials and explain what was going on. She kept pace with a man with short brown hair wearing a dark blue suit about twenty feet or so ahead of her in the river of bodies moving toward the south. The open space of the terminal narrowed down into a corridor as she neared the south entrance, with the people growing more tightly packed together, and slower moving as they funneled toward the exit.

Suddenly she saw him. Grant Davidson was moving toward her, his tall frame standing out in the crowd of people. He was carry a briefcase, one of the metal locking types important people carried important things in. She put a hand on the butt of her gun, trying to step around the wall of bodies that had come to a stop in front of her at the worst possible moment. She stepped the side, forcing her way around them, ignoring the dirty looks she received from those she brushed past.

Something was happening, she saw the man in the dark blue suit abruptly veering through the crowd toward Davidson, who kept his eyes forward, not noticing the man's approach. Her view was suddenly obscured as another group of people stepped between her and them. When the she got clear of the crowd, Davidson was standing alone, facing back toward the south.

Olivia pulled her service weapon from its holster as she approached him from behind. "Turn around!" she said, holding the pistol out in front of her with both hands. "Put your hands in the air, now."

She heard gasps from the crowd around her as it became clear what happening. Grant Davidson turned around slowly with a surprised look on his face, and one hand clutching at his chest. He pulled his hand away and looked down at, then up at her. Blood was pouring out of a gaping wound in his chest, and he collapsed, falling into a nearby sunglasses stand, then onto his back, spread-eagle on the floor. The red stain on his shirt grew rapidly as the crowd backed away. A woman screamed, and then another, and people began moving away from the scene in a mad rush, some heading toward the exit, others back into the terminal.

Olivia crouched over Davidson, feeling for a pulse at his neck. There was none. _Fuck!_

"What happened?" Charlie said, suddenly at her side.

"He's been shot!" she said, looking up at him, then getting to her feet when she realized what was missing.

"Call in a medevac!" Charlie said, to a trench-coated agent who had accompanied him.

"The case is gone!" she said, looking around for it. The man in the dark blue suit was almost at the exit, he glanced back over his shoulder, catching her eye. There was an awareness there, that drew her attention instantly. "They made the exchange! He's running!" she said, as the man recognized he'd been made, and rushed out the door, throwing pedestrians aside as he went.

Olivia sprinted toward the exit, gun in hands, hearing Charlie tell the other agent to stay with Davidson behind her.

There were more screams as the onlookers noticed her running toward them, brandishing a weapon. "FBI!" she shouted, "Out of the way!"

The crowd parted ahead of her and she charged outside, looking left and right for man in the blue suit. A trail of pedestrians picking themselves up off the ground, told her which way the perp had gone. Turning to her right, she raced after him down the sidewalk, leaping over a woman in a gray coat who was rubbing her head where he'd undoubtedly knocked her out of his way.

The crowd thinned out as she moved farther away from the station entrance and she was able to see the man's shoulders bobbing ahead of her about a half a block away as he fled the scene. He glanced back at her, then stopped and twisted around, pointing a gun in her direction. She ducked behind a street light base as she heard a _spit!_ of a silenced gunshot and the ricochet of a bullet off a piece of concrete near her head. Peeking out from her cover, she took up the chase when saw that his back was to her again. Civilians scattered like quail before him as he crashed into a crowd waiting at a crosswalk, swinging the metal briefcase before him like a club.

By the time he made it through the gauntlet of pedestrians, she'd gained considerable ground on him, and was just behind him when he turned the corner at the end of the block. He sprinted down the sidewalk dodging through more screaming pedestrians then suddenly skidded to a stop.

"FBI!"

Olivia looked beyond the man and saw Charlie moving toward him from the other direction, gun raised with a clear shot. She slowed to a walk, holding her gun him also as she approached. Now that the man was still, she was able to get a good look at his face. He was older, maybe upper forties, his brown hair graying at the fringe. He had a pointed nose and his lips were thin with anger above his flat chin.

"Put the gun down!" Charlie said, moving close to him.

The man bent at the knees, keeping his eyes on them and placed the gun on the concrete. It was an automatic, with a large silencer screwed onto the end of the barrel.

"And the case!" Olivia moved next to Charlie, keeping her gun aimed at his head. "Drop the case!" she repeated when he didn't immediately comply.

His jaw clenched as he set the case on the ground, then straightened up, looking arrogantly between them.

Olivia was about to go for her cuffs, when he stepped backwards off the curb without warning. There was a crunch, as a passing bus struck him, sending his body careening down the street, then sliding out into the intersection, where it was run over by a passing truck. The bus came to a screeching halt, and there was the squealing of many tires from the intersection, along with shouts for help from some Good Samaritan.

Neither her nor Charlie spoke for a second, just stared at each other, and then down the street at man's mangled body lying twisted in the intersection.

"What the hell?" Charlie said, his mouth hanging open. "That guy just...what the hell was that?"

Olivia shook her head, feeling the shock of the man's suicide work its way through her system. They were dealing with a group of people willing to die, rather than be taken and questioned. It didn't bode well. When she had control of her limbs again, she reached for her phone, dialing her superior's number.

.

After the scene had been processed, Olivia drove slowly back to the Federal Building, trying to get the awful sound of the man's body being hit to stop replaying over and over in her head like a broken record. When she was able to accomplish that, she kept seeing the slight smile he'd had on his face as the bus killed him. Was it some kind of religious cult? Maybe that would explain the Latin. But didn't explain what their relationship was with Evelina Mendoza.

Were they a friend or foe? The killer's commitment to his cause, threw everything out the window. If Mendoza was just as committed, would she not be willing to die also? But if so, why would they need to kill her at all? If they were enemies, why bother with the elaborate scheme with the bus? What purpose did it serve other than to draw the government's maximum attention? If they were working together it suggested a conspiracy, and if they weren't...that suggested something altogether different. A war always had to have at least two sides.

Broyles was waiting for her in the hallway outside his office, his face grim as he directed her into his office. She followed him in, closing the door behind her.

"Forensics sent up the contents of the case." he said without preamble, moving over to his desk. He picked up a small gray cylinder and held it up her to see. There was a seam running around its mid-section. He grabbed one end and pulled separating the two halves. Picking up a pair of tweezers, he grabbed the object nestled inside and held it up for her inspection.

It was a transparent round disc, about the size and thickness of a quarter. There were traces of blood on it.

"That's it?" she said incredulously.

"That's it." he confirmed with a nod of his bald head. "That's what all this trouble was about."

"Do we have any idea what it is?" She'd never seen anything like it.

"Nope. All we know is that it's made of glass." he said, putting it back in the cylinder. "I'm hoping that our friends at the NSA will be able to tell us more."

"So a bus full of innocent people died," she said, throwing her hands wide. She looked up at the odd circular light on his office ceiling. "And we risked losing another today by drilling holes in his head, all for something we know nothing about?" A fucking glass disc. A glass disc was what a bus full of men, women, and children had died for. A glass disc the size a quarter.

It was all so senseless and random. She'd taken this job so she could stop things like this. A fat lot of good she'd done so far. More people had died on the two cases she'd worked so far, than every other case she'd worked up to that point combined.

"Do you _ever_ smile, Dunham?" Broyles said, opening a drawer on his desk and pulling out a file.

She smiled sometimes. When she had a reason to. More than he did, certainly.

"We ID'd the shooter. Matthew Ziegler." he said, holding the file out for her perusal. "When we ran his fingerprints, he popped up on two other pattern related cases. We're digging into his financials, travel records. Linkage, Dunham. Not only can we now put a face to these people, but we know they're communicating. And how. I'd say that's an impressive day's work. Which brings me to this."

"What is it?" She said, as he moved back behind his desk and picked up another stack of files.

"Of all the models we found in Roy's apartment," he said, placing them in her hands. "Three of them were incidents that we weren't aware of."

"Pattern cases?"

"It would seem so."

She opened the case file on the top of the pile, her eyes drawn to the word _Prague,_ in bold letters under the photograph of a limousine, its interior solidified in the same fashion as the bus. It was the case Nina Sharp had told her about, which meant Broyles was giving her clearance.

Olivia looked up from the picture at his steady gaze.

"Take a look...if you want." Broyles said. "Let me know if you have any thoughts."

She nodded, looking down at the files in her hand. "I'll do that," she said, smiling and glancing back up at him.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

She gave the stack of files a shake in his direction, and left his office feeling somewhat mollified at the state of affairs. It would do for now, though she was sure there were things he wasn't telling her, still.

.

Olivia heard the discordant notes of piano keys being struck haphazardly as she approached the doors of the Harvard lab for the second time that day. She pushed open one of the double doors and strolled in, catching Peter's eye as he glanced up at her then back down to the keyboard he was hunched over. Astrid was standing at the back of the piano, still wearing a white lab coat next to Roy McComb, who looked like he was about ready to leave. He had his own clothes back on, and had a large bandage wrapped around his head where Walter's device had been attached.

"Hey Roy!" she said, moving to his side. "How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts a little." he said, nodding his head slightly. "But uh...Dr. Bishop gave me something for the pain." He held up a brown paper back, the top folded down onto itself.

"Just Vicadin." Walter said, looking up from the box he was digging through. "That's it. I promise."

"So know more transmissions, then?"

"No." Roy said with a big grin.

Olivia smiled at the relief in his voice and on his face. At least they had been able to help him. Maybe he could have a normal life again now, free of additional sensory inputs, as Walter called it.

Peter looked up from the piano where he'd been plucking keys at random. "My guess is once you arrived at South Station with the cavalry," he said looking at her and Roy. "They realized their Ghost Network was compromised, and stopped broadcasting on it."

"Well, just in case," She pulled out one of her business cards and handed it to Roy. "If you hear anything else, do me a favor, and give me a call." She hoped she never had to hear from him again.

"I will." He looked over at Astrid, smiling. "It felt really nice to be able to help. Thank you, Dr. Bishop." he said to him.

"You're quite welcome." Walter replied without looking up from the beaker he was bent over.

"I have a few release forms I need you to sign," Astrid said to Roy. "Then I can take you home." She led him away with a hand at his back. "I believe I have a date with your apartment."

Olivia turned and watched them go, wondering what that was about. A date?

"Hey Dunham!" Peter said from behind her.

She turned back to him, taking in his amused grin.

"Any requests?" he asked, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

She raised an eyebrow, remembering his earlier refusal to play for her. He seemed eager enough to now. She moved over to the piano, thinking of the few piano composers she knew of. Music had never been of great interest to her, with her one attempt at learning to play an instrument ending in failure. He kept his blue eyes on her as she approached, with that same smile awaiting her answer.

"How about some Bach?"

"Bach?" he scoffed, using the German inflection. Peter shook his head and smiled, looking down at the keyboard. "No. That's way too stuffy." He ran his fingers over the keys and looked up at her, head tilted to one side. "What you need is some jazz."

Olivia leaned forward on the piano, resting on her elbows, hands clasped together. "Well, I'll take what I can get." she said with pursed lips, watching closely as he placed both hands on the keyboard and began to play.

The song was a slow and quietly played tune that she wasn't familiar with. It was beautiful though, and had a relaxing sort of cadence that made that made her want to close her eyes and just take it in. She didn't though, her eyes were drawn instead to the way his hands flowed across the keys, his long, slender fingers spread wide as they moved from side to side. They were almost hypnotizing in their rhythmic movement. Peter had large hands, something she hadn't really noticed before, with a light feathering of hair on the back running toward his wrist. She could see the muscles in his forearms flexing with each note, as his fingers gently glided over the keyboard. Her eyes wandered up his forearms to his broad shoulders, swaying slowly in time with his playing. His shirt was unbuttoned, and she could see a few wisps of hair peeking up from the collar of his gray undershirt.

Olivia smiled despite herself, as her eyes drifted upwards to his face. He was looking downwards with a little smile, his eyes intent as he moved above the keys. Running her gaze over his stubbled cheeks, she remembered the feel of them brushing against her lips in the hallway outside the lab when she'd thanked him for helping to save John. At the time, she hadn't payed too much attention, but now her memory brought back the slight prickly feeling with perfect clarity. She swallowed, feeling her face grow hot at the sudden warmth she felt in her groin.

He looked up at her then, his smile lazy, their gazes entwined as he finished out the song. As the last note dies out, their eyes remained fixed on each other until a loud clapping from her side broke the spell.

"Peter!" Walter exclaimed from where he had moved next to her. She hadn't even heard him approach. "That was simply wonderful! When did you start playing Gershwin?"

Olivia quickly turned away from the two men, not missing the way Peter's eyes followed her as he slid out of her view. She closed her eyes, tucking her hair behind both ears as Peter said something about offhandedly to Walter about some place he'd worked at in Europe. Her chest was heaving slightly as if she'd just ascended a long flight of stairs as she moved away from them into her office, closing the door behind her.

She sat down at her desk, silently freaking out in her head. _This is not good. This is bad. This is very bad. I can't do this again. Did he notice that I was... _She couldn't say it, even to herself. _I have to keep my distance from him, but not look like I'm trying to keep my distance. I don't want him to leave, after all. _She saw his slender fingers again, wondered what they might feel like on her skin, maybe on her back, or her thigh, or her... _Stop it! _She looked down, arranging the pens lying on her desk into a straight line as she relaxed her breathing back to a normal gait.

There was a knock at her door and she heard it open slowly. She knew it would be him without even looking.

"Hey."

Olivia did look up then. He was standing just inside the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily.

"Hey." she replied, proud of herself for managing to speak at all.

They stared for a moment without saying anything further.

"Uh...Walter and I are gonna take off." Peter said after a few seconds, nodding his head back toward lab. "You gonna be here for a while?"

"Yeah...paperwork...you know." she said, shrugging and sliding a random sheet of paper in front of her. "Always have more paperwork to do."

His eyes flicked down to the paper, then back up to her face. "Okay." he said, and swallowed, looking down at his feet. "Okay." he repeated, and turned to go.

"Uh...Peter?" she blurted suddenly, surprising herself, before he could go more than a step or two.

He spun back toward her, his eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for playing for me." Olivia said with a soft smile. "It was beautiful."

Peter seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before he replied. "Anytime, Olivia." he said. His voice was quiet, and she barely heard the O sound in her name, almost like he'd said 'Livia. Maybe he had, she wasn't sure.

He closed the door behind him and walked away, corralling Walter on his way to the exit. Olivia waited at for at least ten minutes, not wanting there to any chance of running into them in the parking lot, before she grabbed her things and left also. She intended to go home and take a long, hot bath and try to sort out what exactly she was going to do about Peter Bishop.

.

.

.

.

.

...And that's the end of 1x03. Hopefully I haven't mucked it up. Let me know what you think. I'll be starting 1x04 soon. Since the beginning of this little project I was always planning on doing the first 4 episodes, as I thought Peter's ultimate decision to stay at the end of The Arrival made a good little arc. I haven't decided how I want to proceed after 1x04, whether I should just continue on or skip some episodes (I'm looking at you Power Hungry) or if I should even continue at all past 1x04. Let me know what you think, and thank you for reading and leaving reviews.


	27. Chapter 26 - Interlude II

**Chapter 26**

.

**-Harvard University**

**Peter** shuffled through darkness across the quad toward the stairs at the entrance of the Kresge Building. His shadow, molded from the light of the three quarter moon above, stretched out before him as he left the sidewalk, and cut through the grassy expanse, choosing to take the direct route to the entrance. The Harvard campus was mostly silent, the only constant sounds being the distant roar of trucks on I-90 and the chirping of crickets in the background. And himself, of course, his footsteps sounded loud in his ears as he drew closer to his destination.

The windows of the Kresge Building were dark as he approached, as they should be at that time of night, it being past midnight. A wind from the east kicked up, blowing icy air in from the ocean, and he made fists in his jacket pockets, wishing he'd worn his peacoat instead. Quickly closing the rest of the distance to the building, he took the steps three at a time as he hurried to the entrance and let himself in using the swipe card that Olivia had provided, should they need access to the lab when the building was closed.

He closed the door silently behind him, and hurried through the lobby to the stairwell leading to the basement. Moving quickly down the steps, and then through the corridor to the lab entrance, he unlocked the outer doors and entered, pulling out a small flashlight as he skipped down the steps to the lab floor proper. He kept the light angled low as he moved among the rows of lab tables, careful not to bump any of the glass chemistry apparatus that Walter had set up on the center countertop.

Technically, there was really no reason for him to be hiding his presence in the lab, even at that time of night, but it would be just his luck for some nosy custodian to see the lights on and get curious. It wouldn't have been the end of the world if he was noticed, it wasn't like he was doing anything wrong. He just needed some privacy, and no questions from anyone about what he needed it for. It paid to be methodical about these things.

The orange light at the bottom right hand corner of Astrid's workstation monitor drew his attention, and he moved closer, pulling out her stool and taking a seat. He moved the mouse, waking up the computer from its sleep. The light turned green, and then the screen flickered, coming to life a moment later with a hiss of static. Luckily, her computer wasn't set up to prompt for a password upon waking, as he didn't know her nearly well enough to take as stab at guessing hers. He supposed the login at the FBI website was security enough.

Peter smiled slightly at the image she'd chosen as her desktop background: a finely detailed picture zoomed in on some kind of blue butterfly sitting on a log or tree trunk. From what he did know of her, he could see her being a butterfly person. She probably had pictures of them all over her place.

He realized he was stalling, and pulled the tiny flash memory card he'd taken from the man in the diner out of his pocket, and inserted it into the memory card slot on Astrid's computer. As he waited for the computer to detect its presence, he thought to himself that this could have all been avoided, if the FBI had splurged just a little, and given them more than one computer with a damn memory card reader. He couldn't hold it against Astrid for taking the only one that had a reader though; she'd been the one who had to set them all up, after all. If he had been the one to do so, he would have done the same thing.

A prompt appeared, asking him if he wanted to view the images on the flash drive, and he hesitated, his finger hovering above the mouse button. Now that he finally had the privacy he needed, Peter found that he didn't really want to see what else was on it. Whatever it was, nothing good could come of it. It would either hasten his departure or delay it, and he wasn't sure which was better at this point. He glanced over at the dark shape of the piano in the background, then clicked the button impulsively, clenching his jaw.

Peter recognized the first image as one of the few he'd seen when he cycled through them on the man's camera. It was of him and Walter at the museum, standing in line to enter to the planetarium, and was the most recent picture taken. There were several more images of them looking at exhibits, then the one showing them on the sidewalk outside the museum, right after they had arrived. It was the last one he'd seen in the diner. Hesitating again, he considered just erasing the drive, and forgetting the whole thing. His hesitation only lasted a moment though, before he clicked on the next file. Not looking at everything on the drive would just be plain reckless, even for him.

The picture was of him, by himself, in the driver's seat of Vista Cruiser. He was wearing a hat and sunglasses. It was the day he'd been following Eddie and his crew. _Fuck_. He distinctly remembered thinking that most of Eddie's crew wouldn't be able to ID him. _So much for that_. Closing the image, he saw that there were several more photos with earlier timestamps. He opened the next file and froze at the sight of Olivia's face.

_No._ It was a zoomed in picture, so he couldn't make out where she was exactly, but he could just make out the edge of the door frame on her black SUV in the photo. Her lips were twisted in an amused smirk, and her brilliant green eyes focused on something out of view. Caught in a candid moment, she looked...breathtakingly gorgeous. He swallowed, taking in her features, feeling bleak. _Now you've done it, Bishop_. The one thing he absolutely did not want, was for her to get involved in his problems, to be put in danger because of him, and now she was.

Shaking his head, he closed the image, and opened the last two files in quick succession. One was a close-up of him, and the last was of both of them, coming out of _Punjab_, the day they had eaten lunch together. He checked the file again, and saw that it was indeed the oldest picture on the drive. His trail had been picked up there, not while he was following Big Eddie. Rubbing his neck, Peter paced away from Astrid's workstation, thinking furiously.

He was now sure of one thing; the man in the diner had been truthful when he'd said he hadn't told anyone, if he had, Eddie would already have knocked on his door. He wasn't exactly a patient man. So how had the camera man known he was there? The odds of it being a chance meeting had to be…astronomical.

He paused mid-step, as the obvious conclusion came to him almost immediately. Someone had told him he would be there, Occam's razor and all that. Someone that had seen him in _Punjab, _and had called the man with the camera. He resumed his pacing between the lab tables.

But who?

Surely not Rajan…they were friends…the man had known his mother. One of his staff then? Peter was certain he'd never seen any of them before. Maybe one of the patrons, but that still seemed too random, too unlikely. Which then brought him back to Rajan.

No, it couldn't be him.

How would the old man have even known whom to call? His restaurant was nowhere near Eddie's part of town. He would have never taken Michael, or any of Eddie's crew there. They would have hated Indian food, just as…as…Tess had.

Peter stopped moving, staring out into the darkness of the lab.

_Tess_.

Tess had not been happy when he'd left the last time. She had always been a bit…possessive. He could see her going to Rajan, and telling him some sob story, leaving her number in case he ever showed his face again. Peter could see her going to every place she'd known ever him to frequent and doing the same. She could be rather persistent, also.

Letting his head hang, he closed his eyes, and rubbed at his forehead in frustration. Years had passed since he'd left, she should have been over it by now. He certainly was.

If his assumptions were correct, and that was a big if, Tess knew that he was back in Boston. Which meant the camera man could have been working for her, and not Eddie. Not that there was much difference, he was probably someone she knew through Michael. If she had told the man his name, he was fucked. He might be even if she hadn't, it would all come out eventually. On the stay or go scale he was currently straddling, this tipped things heavily toward the go side. And then there was Walter.

Letting out a groan, he returned to Astrid's workstation, and began deleting the images from the drive. He lingered on the close up of Olivia, until finally hitting the delete key with a sigh. It was a shame; it had been a good picture. After erasing the rest, he ejected the memory card, and tossed it over onto his work table. It could come in handy, if by some miracle things changed. He wasn't expecting them to.

Shining his light around the lab, the narrow beam passed over the piano, in its place next to the tank. Peter almost moved over to it, but instead crossed over to her office and opened the door. Passing the light over the desk, he saw the line of pens still in the same place they'd been the other day, along with a sheet of paper sitting adjacent to them. He moved closer, picking up the piece of paper and shining the light on it. His lips formed an involuntary grin as he saw that it was a blank FBI requisition form.

_Paperwork, huh? _Now why would the ever mysterious Olivia Dunham feel the need to lie about something like that?

_Obviously because you freaked her out, you idiot! _Peter answered himself, the grin slowly sliding off his face as he stared down at the paper. He hadn't meant to. When he'd glanced up from the keyboard, Olivia's smiling eyes had held his like a vice. He'd waited for that uneasy look to appear, and then for her to look away uncomfortably like she always did, but she hadn't looked away, and then he'd been unable to either. Fortunately for both of them, Walter had been too focused on his playing to notice the…moment, or whatever it had been. Why hadn't she looked away?

Peter shook his head, placing the paper back on the desk where she'd left it. He supposed it didn't matter, now. The fact that her picture…and Walter's, he added as an afterthought, had been on a camera of someone associated with Eddie, was unacceptable, whether Tess was behind it or not. Maybe it was time to start planning his exit.

Closing the door behind him, he left her office, and then the lab, making his way back outside the building. Glancing down at his watch as he made the jog back to Walter's car, he saw that it was almost 1 am, plenty of time for him to still go get a drink or three.

.

The red lacquered front door was just as Peter remembered it, with its square panels gleaming with layer upon layer of enamel gleaming faintly in the dim night lighting. The odd sounding music and cheers he heard as he approached the entrance were new, however. Was that a fiddle he heard? The last time he'd been to _Harp's,_ it had not been a bar one would associate with live music or cheering. It had been a place for quiet conversations and solitary drinking, at least during the week. On the weekends it would get a bit rowdier, but not in the live music and clapping kind of way.

He pushed open the door, flinching at the wave of music that washed over him. He looked around, surveying the scene. It appeared to be a college bar these days, with young looking people filling the booths and the stools along the L-shaped bar set along the wall to his left. A band was seated along the far wall, consisting of two men playing fiddles and another guy on a banjo, flanked by two women playing flutes. The strange cacophony of sound they were producing was rather off-putting in his opinion. The combination of the twanging from the banjo mixed with fiddle and flutes, created a dissonance that set his teeth on edge. He'd never cared much for Irish folk music.

With a slight grimace, Peter made his way through the crowd of bodies standing in front of the band, smiling at the women and nodding at the men when needed, to secure passage through their gauntlet. After several searching looks and a few narrowed eyes, he finally made it to his destination, dropping down onto an empty stool near the server station at the end of the bar.

He glanced back over his shoulder at a brunette that had caught his eye on the way through the crowd, taking in her intricately styled hair. She looked she was his type, or had been. The heavy makeup, along with the thick eyeliner and mascara, the dark lipstick, he would have been all over that before coming back to Boston. Now it all seemed like too much…too overstated. Not all like Her.

"That girl is way too young for you." a feminine voice said.

Peter started, then shut his eyes momentarily, putting on his best smile, and turned back to face his accuser. The first thing he saw was her short red shirt, exposing her toned midriff above her black yoga pants. His eyes went up her shirt to her chest, then continued on to her face, still smiling wide. She looked closer his age, with high cheeks and long, dirty blond hair, pulled back in ponytail. She also seemed to be the bartender, which was also new.

"Is that so?" he said. "And just how old do you think I am?"

"Old enough to know better." She shook her head disapprovingly, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Touche." Peter admitted with a shrug. He leaned forward against the bar top. "Would you believe me if I said she wasn't my type?"

"Probably not. Men don't have a type." the woman said distractedly, as another impatient patron tried to get her attention. "What can I get you?"

Peter looked down the row of distinctive draft beer levers sticking up from the other side of the bar. Things had definitely changed; one of his favorite beers was missing from the lineup. "What happened to the Black Sun draft?"

The bartender raised her eyebrows. "Ah, you are an old-timer." she said with a grin, leaning with one hand on her side of the bar, the motion pulling her short shirt up higher. "Only in bottles since new management took over."

His eyes drooped briefly to the tanned skin at her waist, then shifted upwards again. "Gimme one of those and a shot of Bushmills." He paused, then added, "Make that two shots. You got any ten-year?"

"Sure do." the bartender nodded, and went about her task, pausing to take an order from the impatient patron waiting a few stools away to his left.

Peter watched her through the mirror behind the bar. She was a good bartender, exchanging a few words with most customers, but never neglecting anyone too long. With that shirt and the body underneath it, she probably made a fortune in tips alone. The sudden guilt he felt surprised him, leaving a feeling of shame behind, then irritation at the shame. He had done nothing wrong, why shouldn't he look at other women? There was nothing between Her and him, and if her reaction to him from earlier was anything to go by, there most likely never would be. _She just buried her damn boyfriend, who turned out to be a fucking traitor. Of course she's freaked out! _He really hated that small voice in the back of his mind sometimes, he thought gloomily, staring down at his hands.

He looked up as the bartender returned, carrying his beer in one hand, and juggling two shots in the other. She set them down on the bar in front of him, watching expectantly with one hand on her hip as he pulled back one of the shots, her lips turning upwards at the corners as the bite hit him.

"It's been awhile, huh?" she said as he chased the shot with a sip of his beer.

"Not really." Peter replied, thinking of the hotel bar he'd been hitting regularly.

"No, since you've been here." she said, running her eyes over him. "I've never seen you here before."

He nodded, taking another sip. "Yeah, it's been years." he said with a laugh. "I used to know the old bartender, Brian." Her eyebrows arched up at the mention of his old friend. "You know him?"

"You could say that." she said perkily. "He's in the back, if you want to talk to him."

"Really? He's here?" It was hard to imagine his old friend in this place, seeing what it had become.

"Yeah. What's your name?" she said, leaning over and grabbing several beers out of a cooler under the bar in front of him. His eyes wandered to the neckline of her shirt and the tantalizing view.

"Peter." he said after a moment.

The bartender straightened up, cocking an eyebrow at him. "That's all I get? Just Peter?" She handed the beers to a waiting customer, keeping her attention on him.

"Just Peter." he replied, nodding sagely.

"Alright, Just Peter." she smirked, rolling her eyes. "I'll go find the big lug for ya." she said with a flick of her ponytail, turning and heading toward a door at the end of the bar.

He watched her go, the feeling of guilt returning, much worse than it was before. _Damn yoga pants_, he thought, taking a large drink of his Black Sun. _And damn Olivia for doing this to me. _Grabbing the other shot, he downed it one gulp, enjoying the burn as it went down. He chased it with another swig of his beer, finishing it off. Yes, he was going to get thoroughly trashed, and damn the consequences.

A minute or so later, she returned, taking more orders on her way back to his end of the bar, handing out drinks as she went. When everyone appeared to be satisfied, she made her way back in front of him, glancing down at his empty bottle and shots glasses.

"I'm Kylie." she said, holding out a hand toward him.

Peter reached over the bar, giving her fingers a light squeeze, and letting go. "It's nice to meet you, Kylie." He didn't miss the way she brushed her fingertips over his palm as he pulled his hand back. He swallowed, as the guilt flared up again like a supernova. He ignored it. "Why don't you gimme another round." he said, nodding down at his empty drinks with a grin.

She nodded, reaching for another beer. "You wanna start a tab?" she said, her dark eyes catching his as she popped the cap off and slid it in front of him.

"I don't know, it's pretty late." he said mildly, looking up at clock on the wall above her. It was just after 1 am. "What time do you close?" He watched her closely as she poured him two more shots of Bushmills.

"I get off at two." Kylie said, her voice husky as she set the shots in front of him. "Is that too late for you?" She leaned forward on the bar top, keeping her gaze on him.

Peter nodded, a wide smile forming on its own. "No, that sounds just about right." he said, wetting his lips. That small voice tried to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, but he drowned it out with another shot. _I know exactly what I'm doing_, he thought hazily.

"Then I'll see you later, Peter." Her eyes were almost predatory. "I need to get back to work. I can't have you monopolizing _all_ my time, you know." she said saucily, and moved away from him with a twist of her hips.

Peter gulped down his other shot, watching her as he interacted with the other customers at the bar. She certainly didn't make any of them the same offer she'd made him. He was thinking about what could have made him stand out, when a familiar voice spoke in his ear.

"Bishop. It's been a long time."

He chuckled, rising from his bar stool and giving his old friend a hug, or tried to at least, the man was even bigger than he'd been last time he'd seen him.

"Hey man! It has been a while." Peter said, stepping back and sizing him up. "Did you stop working out or something? You only look half as big as the Hulk."

"Yeah right." Brian said, shaking his head. "Man, it's good to see you again." The big man looked over at the bar at his new friend, Kylie who'd been watching the two of them with interest. "Hey Kylie! Give me the bottle my friend's been drinking from."

She handed over the Bushmills, looking between the two of them. "Going somewhere?" she asked, her eyes lingering on Peter.

"We'll be in my office." he said, pulling Peter after him through the crowd.

Peter grinned as the crowd seemed to melt away from the towering figure ahead of him. Brian McGee had had that effect on people since about the seventh grade, when he'd sprouted up like a weed. He'd moved into the same neighborhood as Peter's family Cambridge when they were both in the fifth grade. Brian's family had been the only black family on the street, and Peter's mother had insisted they go introduce themselves. The two of them had hit it off right away, and were constantly hanging around each other from that point on, even after Walter happened, and him and his mother had moved to Allston. At least until he'd dropped out of high school, and started his wandering abroad. Brian had stayed in school, his size making him an excellent defensive end for the football team.

His office was in the back of the building near, near kitchen at the end of a short hallway behind a locked door. It was more of a cubby, really, and Peter thought it unlikely that they would both be able to fit in it. To his surprised they did, barely, with him taking the seat and Brian sitting on the edge of a desk that the room must have been built around.

They talked for a while, passing the bottle back and forth, about family, though he knew better than to bring up Peter's mother, and old friends.

"You still keep up with Mako and Akim?" Peter asked at break in the conversation. Mako and Akim was a mutual friends from grade school, both with some bad habits. He figured Mako was probably in prison somewhere by now.

"Mako?" Brian chuckled. "That old thief? Man, he's still running that chop shop out in Mattapan."

"Are you shittin' me?" Peter said in disbelief, taking another pull off the bottle. "How has that place not been raided yet?"

"That's the question of the century." Brian replied, running his fingers over his short, black hair. "He's the luckiest son of bitch on the planet, I guess. As for Akim, he's still doing his computer thing, in that little hole he calls a shop. He setup my network for me here."

"What about this?" Peter said, looking around the office. "You own this place now? When did that happen?" He handed the bottle back to the big man.

"Bought it a few years back. Got a loan, and all that shit. It's legit." he said proudly.

Peter nodded, happy his friend had made something of himself. More than he, himself had, certainly, as Walter was fond of pointing out.

"What about that bartender, Kylie." he said. "What's her story?"

"Walked in off the street one day." Brian said, taking his turn with the bottle. "Said I had to hire her. So I did. She's good."

"So I noticed." Peter said dryly, taking the bottle back.

Brian eyes met his sharply, a big smile cracking his face. "Oh man, you still got it." He clapped his hands on his thighs. "The girls all just spreadin' their legs like they used too."

Peter winced, remembering how his Brian's mother had tried to beat the crudeness out of him when they were in middle school together. She hadn't much success.

"I don't know that it was ever quite like that." he said, remembering things a bit differently. It wasn't even until he got to high school and slimmed down, that the girls even noticed him. Brian, on the other hand had been quite popular as he was the biggest kid in their grade. He took another drink, noticing that their bottle was getting low. He was going to pay for this in the morning.

There was a moment of silence as they regarded each other. Finally, Brian sighed, and grabbing the bottle from him, finished it off.

"What are you doing back in Boston, Peter?" he said, sounding sober, though Peter couldn't see how that was possible. His eyes were sharp though, so maybe he was.

Peter laughed bitterly. "Would you believe that I'm here in an official capacity?" Before his friend could answer, he went on. He needed to get down to business before he passed out. "Let me ask you something. When was the last time you saw Michael Kelly?"

"Michael? That little fuck showed up here about a month after you left." Brian said, his deep voice full of disdain. "I haven't seen his ass since."

"Did he say what he wanted?"

"Yeah." Brian laughed. "You. Offered me cash to let him know if you showed up again."

_Fuck._ "And what did you tell him?"

"What do you think I told him?" Brian said, jutting out his chin and cracking his neck. "I told him if he didn't get the fuck out of my bar, I'd break every bone in his skinny little body. He left shortly after that, and I haven't seen him since."

"I'll bet he did." Peter chuckled. "Was anybody with him?"

"Yeah." he replied nodding his head. "That blond bitch. Tess. She didn't have much to say."

Peter grimaced, he still didn't have a definitive answer. She could have gone to _Punjab_ on her own.

"I told you not to get involved with those Irish fucks, Bishop." Brian said, shaking his head like a father at his child, who wasn't learning his lessons.

Peter grunted, "This coming from the man who owns a bar with Irish folk music being played live." he said, meeting the other man's eye.

"Man, I hate that shit, but it fills the place up." he said with a shrug of broad shoulders. "Why do you think I'm back here, and not up front?"

They both grinned and then burst out laughing, with great belly aching laughs. After they'd both calmed down, Peter got slowly to his feet, feeling the enclosed space spinning around him. He grabbed the edge of the desk for support until he regained his balance. He looked at a clock hanging above the desk. It was almost two-thirty.

"It's been good to see you again, man." he said sincerely, nodding his head. "But I gotta go, I actually have to work in the morning, believe it or not."

Brian's went up to his hairline. "You work? Did I hear that right?" he said, giving him a clap on the shoulder as he moved aside.

"Stranger things have happened," Peter said, thinking of the last few weeks. "Believe me." He shook his friend's hand and started past him out of the tiny office.

"Hey Peter!" Brian called after him as he started down the corridor.

Peter looked back at him, putting out a hand against the wall to stop the floor from tilting. His eyes were having trouble focusing.

"Give me a call if you need anything."

He nodded, throwing a hand in his friends direction, and trudged slowly down the hallway toward the door leading back to the bar floor. Pushing it open, he was greeted with silence, and realized he hadn't heard the band playing for a while. He moved down another short hallway past the restrooms, and out to the bar area, noticing the dimmed lighting and lack of people. His eyes went to the bar, but she was nowhere to be seen. Of course, they closed at two, and she obviously hadn't felt like waiting.

Perhaps it was for the best, he thought, crossing the distance to the entrance. He pushed open the door and went out into the brisk night, wishing again he'd worn his peacoat. The wind cut straight through his jacket like it wasn't even there. He hugged himself and looked down the street, seeing the Vista Cruiser where he'd left it. He was in no shape to drive anywhere. Pulling out his cellphone he started looking up a taxi service when he heard her voice behind him.

"Hey Just Peter." He turned and saw the bartender Kylie, coming out of the shadows near the entrance. "What took you so long?"

His heart began to race has he took in her slim figure, so much like Her's. "It takes a while to catch up with old friends." he said with a shrug.

"Well, I don't like having to wait." she pouted, hooking her arm around his and guiding him in the opposite direction of the wagon. "My apartments this way." she said, at his questioning look.

"It's a shame." he said, hearing his voice slur as they made their way down the sidewalk. "I never got a chance to give you a tip."

She looked up at him, the predatory look returning. "Oh you will." she said with a vulpine smile. "Brian told me about you, you know."

"Oh yeah?" Peter said, intrigued. His voice was low, and hardly sounded like himself. "And what did he tell you?"

"That you were his best friend growing up." Kylie replied. "He's been good to me." It sounded like an explanation.

"He's a good man." he agreed, wondering where she was going with it, but she made no further comment.

They walked a bit further, with her huddled in close against the wind. It felt good to have a warm body at his side. He could hear that small voice again, telling him he was being a fool, that he didn't even know this woman, but none of that was important to him at the moment, and he pushed the voice away.

"I'm right here." she said, gesturing with her free hand toward a doorway set between a coffee shop and some kind of boutique. They stopped and she produced a key from her purse, and opened the door. She pulled it open and looked back at him, her green eyes inviting. "Coming?" Olivia said, holding the door open for him.

He swallowed, fighting to keep his eyes from glazing over. "Yeah. I'm right behind you." he said hazily, and followed her inside, grabbing the stair rail.

.

Peter's eyes shot open, staring at the unfamiliar popcorn ceiling above him. He started to sit up, but the weight across his chest, and his head, pounding like a jackhammer, forced him back. He turned his head to one side, taking in the curtained window, letting in a touch of the morning sunrise. He looked the other way and saw that he was in an apartment, a loft to be more precise, with the small kitchen along the far wall. There was a ceiling fan directly overhead, spinning lazily. One of his hands was wrapped around a mound of warm flesh, the distinctive pebble at the tip, telling him exactly what was going on.

He lifted his head again, looking down toward his feet, and froze at the mop of blond hair lying across his chest. _Holy shit_. His hands went to his forehead, trying to remember how the fuck he'd ended up there. The pounding in his head, like someone stabbing his brain with a fork in tune to the beat of his heart, didn't help the thought process. At all.

He'd gone to the lab to finally view the flash drive. There had been a picture of Olivia on it. He remembered the dread he'd felt when her face had popped up on the monitor. Then he'd left, thinking about setting up an exit...then...Brian McGee. Harp's. It was starting to come back to him. The bartender. Kylie. She'd been waiting for him. He vaguely remembered her lithe body bouncing above his, her fingernails spiked into his chest with her head thrown back. He hoped she'd had a good time, because he couldn't remember shit.

There was a clock on the nightstand at the side of her bed. It was almost 6 am. He stared at the time for a moment, not comprehending what it meant. Then the ramifications hit him. _Walter!_

Peter looked around, trying to figure out how extricate from the silky flesh lying atop his. There was no way. It was going to be awkward. Gently, he scooted to the side, rolling her off him and onto her back. His eyes roamed down her naked form, trying to see if it was familiar at all. Another image came to him, her smooth thighs over his shoulders, while he looked up at her face between the valley of her breasts. It must have been a memorable night. When his eyes returned to her face, her eyes were open, and staring at him.

"Hey there." she said, yawning, and stretching her arms out above her head.

He swallowed, trying not to stare, but found it impossible. "Uh...I...uh..." he groaned, clutching at his head as the pounding intensified. "I really have to go." he said when he recovered. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged indifferently and rolled on her stomach, exposing her other side. "That's fine." she said, looking at him with a knowing grin. "Let's not pretend that this was anything more than what it was, okay?" She reached for her purse on the floor near the side of the bed.

As she rummaged through it, he rolled off the bed, looking around for his clothes. They were in a line, leading from the door, straight to the bed. He put them back on piece by piece, following the trail. When he was dressed, he moved back to the bed, taking the card in her hand she was holding out to him.

"If you want to...uh...come by sometime, give me call." she said, without a hint of a blush.

Peter nodded silently, pocketing the card, not sure what to say. "Okay." he managed to mumble after a moment in a strangled voice. He moved toward the door. As he grabbed the knob, he looked back at her. She was lying on her side, resting her head on one hand, watching him.

"Hey," she called to him as he opened the door. "Who's Olivia?"

"What?" he gasped, sure he hadn't heard her correctly. Why would she say that name?

"That's what you called me. Last night." she said. "Olivia."

He felt his cheeks catch fire. "She...uh...um...it's complicated." he said weakly.

"It always is." she said, and rolled over. "I'm going back to sleep. See ya."

Peter closed the door behind him, and hurried down the steps toward the door to the outside. _This is a fucking disaster!_ He thought, as he pushed the door open and went out into the morning light, covering his eyes at the brightness. How was he going to look Olivia in the face after this? She was going to know! The woman had always been able to see right through his bullshit. _Isn't that what you wanted?_ The annoying voice asked him. _An excuse to leave? _He supposed it was, but not like this. He didn't do one night stands. That wasn't him. He had intended for Eddie or Walter to be the impetus for his departure. Not Olivia herself.

He made the long trek back to the wagon, feeling more depressed with every step. He hoped like hell Walter was asleep when he got back to the hotel.

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**Hi there, I hope this chapter made sense, and didn't stray too far OOC. Let me know what you think. 1x04 will start with the next chapter.**


	28. Chapter 27 - 1x04 The Arrival

**Chapter 27**

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**-Federal Building, Boston**

**Olivia** passed through the empty halls of the Federal Building, enjoying the silence of the normally bustling FBI headquarters. She'd gone in early, after having woken from a dream and found herself unable to fall back asleep. Even after doing her normal morning workout regime, she'd still made it in before six o'clock. Other than the few night-shift employees, mainly in dispatch, the floor seemed vacant of people. She turned the corner, moving past Broyles office, and heard his voice coming from within, though she couldn't make what out he was saying. So the place wasn't completely empty. She wondered if Broyles had any kind of life outside the FBI; he always seemed to be there, no matter the time of day, or what day it was, for that matter.

Moving to her desk among the cubicles on the main floor, she looked up at the curved window of Broyles office. He was on the phone staring down at her, and nodded at her glance, which she returned in kind, and dropped onto her chair. Her desk was as she'd left it the night before, with the large stack of paperwork that still needed going through sitting front and center. Picking up her reading glasses, she placed them on her nose and got to work.

Or rather, she tried to get to work. Her normally focused mind, kept drifting off, and she found herself reading the same lines over and over. She leaned back in her chair, nibbling on the cap of her ballpoint pen, thinking about the odd dreams she'd been having lately. They had been coming almost every night since the really weird one in the diner with the Bishops and John. None of them were quite as out there as that had been, but there was a sense of being watched in them, that had her waking hours before her alarm. The only exception had been the night after Peter had played the piano for her. She'd slept like a babe that night.

On the subject of Peter, she wondered how he and his father were doing at the lab. Astrid had mentioned that the Bishops had come in to the lab much later than usual the last few days, and that Walter had not seemed at all happy about it. He'd complained to her that Peter had been staying out till all hours of the morning, stumbling back to the hotel room in no condition to drive them to the lab. The day after the piano playing...incident, Peter had actually called Astrid, to have her bring Walter in for him. When he'd finally shown up, hours late, looking like he was sporting a terrible hangover, he was distant with herself, barely even acknowledging her presence, and that wasn't like him at all, hangover or no.

It worried her, this sudden shift in Peter's behavior. Something had changed with him, and not for the better. Ever since she'd meet him in Iraq, he was always looking at her, subtly and openly. It had distracted her at first, but she had become accustomed to it, expected it of him, almost. This new disinterest on his part, while fitting in with her own plan of trying to keep her distance, his own initiation of it had left her feeling...unsettled. By the end of the week, she'd found him distracting enough that she'd just gone back to the Federal Building after only a few hours in the lab. While Peter had more or less ignored her, Walter had been the subject of his ire repeatedly, drawing sharp criticism for doing things that a week before, he wouldn't have batted an eye at. One particularly vocal argument had Astrid and her eyeing each other uncomfortably, and she worried it might get physical for a moment, until Peter had suddenly stopped and just walked out of the lab without returning that day.

Shaking her head, Olivia leaned forward over her paperwork again, trying to put Peter and his strange behavior out of her mind, and got to work. She made good progress, until the solitude was eventually broken as other agents began trickling in, with the volume level increasing until she finally found herself longing for the quiet of her office at the lab, even with its new tensions, by the time it was nine o'clock.

Taking off her glasses, she rubbed at her eyes, then looked around at her coworkers. There was a group of agents standing under the row of LCD screens hanging on the far side of the room, heads craned upwards, talking excitedly. The screens they were watching were the ones tuned in to the different twenty-four news channels when there was nothing important going on. She saw Charlie Francis among them, and rose out of her seat, curious to see what the commotion was about. He saw her as she approached, and motioned for her to join him.

"Hey Liv!" Charlie said, pointing up the screen. "Come check this out."

"What is it?" Olivia asked, moving next to him and looking up at the screen, her eyes focusing on the headline above ticker scrolling across the bottom.

GROUND SHAKES AS CONSTRUCTION CRANE TOPPLES IN BROOKLYN, NY

The camera footage being shown was taken from a news helicopter circling overhead, surveying a scene of devastation. A huge tower crane had collapsed, with the top section lodged in the upper floors of an adjacent apartment building. The yellow painted support structure lay twisted in ruin below, among a dusty pile of rubble from the building, and debris scattered around the site from the heavy equipment crushed by the fallen crane. A thick gray smoke hung in the air, obscuring the base of the crane from the helicopter's cameras. Emergency vehicles and their flashing red and blue lights surrounded the site in a semi-circle, cordoning off the scene from onlookers.

The cause of the collapse was unclear, as the talking heads on each of the news channels speculated as to what it might be. Eyewitness reports of the ground shaking, and then an explosion prior to the cranes collapse, were about the only consistent pieces of information circulating between the competing channels.

"My god." Olivia said to Charlie, watching the chaos of unfold as one of the channels had managed to get hold of someone's cell phone camera footage of the event as it happened. The screams of the fleeing pedestrians reminded Olivia of the videos taken by New Yorkers running from the World Trade Center on 9/11. "Have there been any reports of casualties?"

Charlie shook his head, keeping his attention on the screens. "Nothing definitive yet. Just that there are some."

Olivia sighed. There were always casualties when things like this happened. She hoped cause of the collapse turned out to be accidental in nature, and not an attack of some kind.

Turning from the screens, she caught Charlie's eye. "I'm gonna head to the lab, it's a bit quieter there." she said. "I'll see you later, Charlie."

.

When Olivia arrived at the lab, she found Astrid and Walter in her office talking. The junior agent was propped on the edge of her desk, comforting a distraught Walter seated in front of her. Peter was nowhere to be seen. They looked up as she stepped inside.

"Hey." Olivia said, tossing her coat over the back of a chair. "What's going on?"

She dropped onto the chair behind her desk, setting the case files she'd planned on going through in front of her.

Walter turned to her. "Peter didn't come back to the hotel this morning." he said, leaning forward, and gripping the edge of her desk. "I simply don't understand why he wouldn't come back. He's always come back before."

"Did he say where he was going last night?" Olivia asked, exchanging looks with Astrid.

Walter shook his head, and started wringing his hands together. "He...he didn't tell me...it was very late...he was on his phone..."

"Did you try calling him?" she said to Astrid.

"No answer." Astrid said, sliding off her perch and moving over to the coffee machine on the far side of the room. "He might answer for you, though." she murmured in a low voice, with her back to them.

Olivia looked sharply over at the other woman. What did she mean by that?

"Do you think he'll come back, Agent Dunham?" Walter said in a trembly voice, turning her attention from Astrid's curious comment. "I...I don't want do this without him."

"Walter," she began calmly. "I'm sure Peter-"

The old scientist lurched to his feet. "But what if he doesn't?" he interrupted loudly, throwing a hand toward her.

Olivia leaned involuntarily away from him at his sudden outburst.

"What if my boy is gone again?" He began to stride violently around her office, his voice rising as he went on. "I can't do this without Peter! I won't do without him!" he snarled angrily, spinning toward her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia saw Astrid move back against the wall, out of his way. Her eyes were wide was she looked between Walter and herself. Usually when Walter started having one of these episodes, it was Peter who could get him to calm down. _Damn you, Peter!_ Olivia thought angrily. _Why are you doing this?_ Calming down an upset mad scientist was not one of her specialties.

"Walter!" Olivia barked, slamming her hands down on the desk. "Calm down!" She rose from her seat, moving around her desk to stand before him. "I will find Peter, okay?" she said, lowering her volume to a normal level.

Walter flinched back, then nodded his head almost imperceptibly. "I'm sorry, Agent Dunham." he said mournfully. "It's just that...I can't...I can't..." His voice grew quiet, and his eyes wandered from hers to the window into the lab. They narrowed, and he moved away from her toward the door of the office, muttering under his breath.

After Walter retreated to the lab, Olivia glanced over at Astrid, shaking her head and exhaling a long breath. At this rate she would have been better off staying at the Federal Building. Pulling out her phone, she dialed the younger Bishop's number as she moved back to her desk and sat down. She wasn't sure what she was going to say to him if he answered.

"Hello?" Peter's voice came on the line after the fourth ring. He sounded odd in some way.

"Peter." she said, not sure how best to proceed.

Olivia looked up as a cup of coffee was thrust in her direction by Astrid, along with a few packets of sugar. She nodded her thanks and the younger woman left the office, closing the door behind her. Peter didn't respond for a moment, but she heard him breathing, so she knew he hadn't hung up.

"I guess this call isn't about me winning the employee of the month award, is it?" he said finally.

She covered her mouth, stifling a giggle. Damn the man and his ability to make her laugh.

"Olivia?"

"Where are you, Peter?" Olivia said, when she was sure no giggles were forthcoming. "What's going on with you lately?"

"I'm actually at the hotel." he replied, then hesitated. "I've just uh...been catching up with some old friends."

Olivia was sure he was lying, or avoiding her question at least, but she wasn't going to press him on it at the moment. He was entitled to his privacy, and a life outside of work. She knew that unlike herself, Peter was a social creature, and the forced babysitting of his father every night had to wear on him. She hoped it was indeed friends he was catching up with, and not his other, more nefarious associates.

"Is everything okay?" she asked after a moment.

"Yeah…Everything's fine." His voice sounded odd again to her ears.

There was a silence as they listened to each other's breathing for moment. She thought of him playing the piano for her the week before, and realized his strange behavior had started the day after. Maybe he was as freaked out as she had been.

"Well, then I'll see you tomorrow?" she said softly, taking a sip of her coffee.

"You don't need me to come in?" he said quickly, sounding surprised, and was that disappointment she detected?

"No...just take the rest of the day." Olivia said, shaking her head. "I'll have Astrid drop your father off later."

"Oh...okay." Peter said, swallowing audibly. Olivia heard a faucet turn on in the background. "Then...uh I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah…See ya." she said, and ended the call.

Tossing her phone on her desk, she went to the door of her office and stuck her head out. Walter was in Gene's stall, rubbing her down with a thick brush, while Astrid watched, leaning against the cow's pen. She thought that he found the repetition therapeutic, and had noticed his tendency to retreat into the stall when he was upset.

"Everything's fine, Walter." Olivia told him. "Peter's fine, okay?"

* * *

**Peter** dropped his phone on the counter, staring at it for a moment before picking up his cup. Swirling the water around the inside of the glass a few times, he watched as it ran up the side, almost to the point of overflowing. This was turning out to be harder than he'd anticipated.

When he'd seen Olivia's number on his phone's display, he'd intended to tell her right then. That he'd made a mistake, that he was leaving. Instead, all he managed was a wisecrack that she hadn't even acknowledged. He'd thought that she must be thoroughly annoyed at his recent behavior by now, which had been in his intention, so she wouldn't try to convince him to stay. Why fight him on it if he was reverting to his former unreliable ways? But instead of giving him the rough side of her tongue, as he was expecting, she'd only expressed concern for his well being. How could he possibly tell her after that? Her patience with him, just reiterated the fact that she was, and always would be too good for him.

Throwing back his glass of water, Peter drank it down it one gulp. He dropped the cup in the sink and turned from the small kitchenette, looking around the hotel room that had been his home for the last month. The cramped living quarters at least, would be easy to say goodbye to. Crossing the room to the narrow couch that had been slowly killing his back, he grabbed the tv's remote off the coffee table and sat down, hoping something worth watching was on the hotel's limited channel selection.

After flipping through all the channels, he settled on a replay of _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_, an old favorite of his. His mother had liked it too, or at least she'd liked watching it with him, as they would always sit down and view it together whenever it was on when he was growing up. He remembered that she'd leave the room at the scene were the little boy was abducted by the aliens. One time he'd followed her, and found her in the kitchen, pouring herself a drink, with tears streaming down her face. He'd chalked it up to being a mother, and didn't follow her again. Walter had always hated the movie, said the Steven Spielberg was a hack, that it was unscientific. Strangely enough, he'd had no problem watching other as equally unscientific films or shows, but that was Walter for you, a random jumble of thoughts and opinions.

Falling back on his lone pillow, Peter's eyes fell on the little card that the bartender, Kylie, had given him, where it sat peeking out from underneath a newspaper on the coffee table where he'd left it. He reached for it and pulled it toward him, taking in her flowery script. Shaking his head, he crumbled it up and tossed it toward the trash can sitting near the kitchenette. The woman was insatiable. His lateness that morning could be laid directly at her feet, although in truth, he'd only put up a paltry resistance to her clutching thighs. He wasn't planning on seeing her again, even if he weren't going to be leaving Boston soon. For one thing, anyone he was near could be in danger, and she was far less capable of dealing with that than Olivia. _Unless she just fucked Eddie to death, of course_, he thought with a chuckle. The blond bartender was certainly skilled enough in that department.

The smile left his face after a moment; the joke was in poor taste, even for him. He swallowed, and stared up the ceiling. He could admit to himself that drunk or sober, it hadn't been her he'd been thinking about while they were together, and that was the main reason he wouldn't be seeing her again. Strangely enough, she was aware that he'd been using her, and had told him so. At his stuttering excuses, she'd just laughed at him, and said she'd known it from the beginning. Maybe she'd been using him as well, and he was just the guy of the week. He'd never really been a meaningless sex, one-night stand kind of guy before, at least not the kind to go out looking for it. It was surprisingly easy with a willing partner.

_Women are going to be the death of me_, he thought, as his eyes closed involuntarily, feeling his late night and early morning activities starting to catch up with him. He yawned and rolled on his side, turning his attention back to the movie. He fought a valiant fight with exhaustion before sleep claimed him.

.

Peter woke to the sound of Walter singing loudly in his baritone voice as he moved about the hotel room. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and running a hand across his cheek and down to his chin, still feeling like he could fall right back asleep. Looking over at the clock on the wall, he saw that it was past midnight, close to two o'clock in the morning. He'd slept half the day, and most of the night away.

"Walter!" he called over the arm of the couch. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh, Peter! You're awake!"

He heard Walter crossing the room toward him, and quickly turned his head toward the cushion when he came into view.

"Walter!" he groaned, rubbing his eyes roughly. "Why don't you have your clothes on?"

"I just got out of the bath." Walter said, moving to the end of the couch near Peter's head.

"And?" Peter said, looking upwards, then wiping his face as drops of water from his father's still wet hair fell onto him and his pillow. "Will you get away from me? You're dripping all over the place. There's these things called towels, you ever heard of them? You use them to dry off!"

"I prefer to air dry." Walter humphed, as he moved away from the couch and out of Peter's view. "It's better for my skin. It would be better for yours too, son."

"If you don't mind, I think I'll just stick with my towels." Peter muttered, rolling back to his side, facing the television. His eyes wandered to his phone on the coffee table and he leaned forward, reaching for it. No messages.

"You're not going out again are you, Peter?" Walter asked from across the room, concern in his voice.

Peter dropped the phone back onto the table. "Not that it's any of your business, Walter, but no, I'm not going out."

"Good…because if this is how you…" he broke off, moving back into Peter's line of sight. "I'm your father, of course it's my business."

"No. It's not." Peter argued, sitting up. "You lost the right to pull that card seventeen years ago, when you got put in a mental institution. Remember that?"

Walter went on as if he hadn't spoken. "Because, if this is an example of your work ethic, I'm not at all surprised that you ended up as this…this…" he twirled his hands in front of him as struggled to find the word he was looking for.

"This what, Walter?" Peter said slowly, feeling seeds of anger starting to take root.

"This…vagabond, wandering about." he finished, his mouth curled down in a frown. He started pacing in front of the coffee table. "You were a smart boy, Peter…So smart." His voice was sad and there was a look of pity on his face. "We gave you the best education that we could afford, and what have you done with it? What would your mother think of what you've become?"

In a blink, Peter was on his feet, shoving his father back against the wall behind him, and holding him there with a forearm against his chest. Walter's eyes were wide, showing the whites all the way around.

"Don't you dare say another word!" Peter hissed through clenched teeth, their faces inches apart. "Not another word about her."

"Where were you when she died, Peter?" Walter said hoarsely. His eyes glistened, and a tear made a track down one of his wrinkled cheeks. "Were you even on this continent?"

Peter swallowed and looked away, feeling the rage drain out of him like it was running through a sieve, and the old shame and guilt filling in the space left behind. He pressed hard on Walter's chest once, then pulled away, turning his back on him, and throwing himself down on the couch, facing toward the cushions.

It wasn't his fault! _She_ had encouraged _him_ to leave in the beginning, and when she seemed so unhappy every time he returned…he just couldn't take being around her. But if he'd known that she…he would have come back, on the moment. He would have come back. At least that was what he'd been telling himself ever since.

"Get in bed, Walter." he said after he'd swallowed down the lump in his throat.

He heard his father move toward the bed, then pause at the end of the couch near his head again. "I…I'm sorry I upset you, son." Walter whispered, his hand touching arm of the couch. "It's…it's not my place to...to pass judgment."

Peter stared at the cushion in front of his face. "Doesn't matter." he replied woodenly, refusing to look in his father's direction. "Just go to sleep."

.

Hours later, Peter found himself still awake, forced to listen as Walter recited the chemical compounds to some formula and the step by step process for mixing them together. It had been going on for the last forty-five minutes. He'd thought his father had gone to sleep after their argument earlier, and had just about been asleep himself when it had started and he'd had just about enough.

"One hundred fifty grams of sucrose, maintained at seventy degrees Fahrenheit for one hundred twenty hours." Walter said in a soft monotone voice, starting over. "Thirty milliliters at eighty degrees…"

"Walter!" Peter said, sitting up and sweeping the blanket off his chest with one hand. "What formula are you rattling off at three o'clock in the morning?" He looked over to the bed his father was lying on, hands clasped across his chest.

"The formula for root beer." Walter said simply.

"Root beer." he said flatly, shaking his head. "That's what's so important that you couldn't stop yourself from broadcasting?"

"I haven't had it for ages." he explained, propping himself up on his elbows. "I…I thought I might make some in the lab tomorrow."

Peter rolled his eyes, shaking his head again. Swinging his legs off the couch, he stood, grabbing his blanket and pillow, and looked around the dark hotel room. His eyes fell on the short hallway leading to the bathroom and he headed toward it.

"Where are you going?" Walter asked, sitting up in the bed. There was desperate tone to his voice.

"It occurs to me it might be easier to sleep in the tub." Peter said, letting his frustration show as he stalked across the room toward the bathroom.

"Oh…a root beer float!" Walter said happily, falling back on the bed. "That sounds delicious!"

Pulling open the bathroom door, Peter flipped on the light on and threw back the shower curtain. He stepped into the tub, pulling his blanket in behind him, and froze at the shin-deep water he stepped into, suppressing a shout.

"Next time, will you please drain the tub" he called loudly out to Walter, removing his wet foot and bending over to release the drain.

"Oh…Oh yes indeed. Sorry son!" Walter said from the other room.

Looking down at his blanket, Peter saw that a large portion of it was soaked from where it was dragged into the water. _Goddamnit._ He dropped it on the floor and leaned back against the vanity, staring down at his bare feet but not really seeing them.

He'd reached the end of his tether.

_I can't do this anymore._ Between the stress of Big Eddie and putting Olivia in danger, Walter's bullshit was just too much to deal with. He'd been waiting, or stalling more like it, to find the right time. _I'm telling her tomorrow_, he decided, moving back out into the hotel room and dropping onto the couch. _I should have left the night I saw her picture on that drive._ She would no doubt fight him on it, but he was going to be resolute this time.

He sat, staring blankly at the dark tv screen, until light started peeking in through thick curtains covering the hotel window. When the sun was well above the horizon, he picked up his phone.

* * *

**Olivia** looked up from her paperwork at the sound of her phone buzzing on the desk next her. She frowned, curious who could be texting her at seven-thirty in the morning. Picking it up, she saw Peter's number on the display. Her frown deepened, a sense of unease coming over her.

The message was short and to the point: _Where are you?_

_At the Federal Building_, she replied back, and then quickly added. _Where are you?_

Peter's reply came almost instantly: _I'll be there in 30 min._

Olivia waited for a moment to see if there were any more replies coming, but put her phone down after a minute or two when none came.

The feeling of unease grew as her thoughts raced, going over possible reasons why he would need talk to her at this time of the morning. His text had said, _I'll be there_. Not We. He was coming alone. Where was Walter? Why would he need to talk to her without Walter? Had something happened between them the night before? Was he in some kind of trouble...or...or...

Stopping that train of thought, she took her glasses off, and rubbed at her eyes. She was rambling, and not thinking rationally. It could be something innocuous, like they wanted a hotel room with more space, or they needed separate rooms. Maybe he just wanted to see her, they were...friends after all, and they'd hardly spoken to each other that week, with him being distracted and pulling his disappearing act. Maybe he just wanted to apologize, though she wasn't sure what he needed to apologize for, exactly. For not wanting to join her in being lonely? That was ridiculous.

Olivia returned to her paperwork, trying to concentrate on the monotonous task of filling out expense reports for the newly formed Fringe task force. She made little progress as her attention kept wandering to the little LCD clock sitting on its stand near the back of her desk, watching the numbers slowly advance at a crawl toward eight o'clock. After twenty minutes or so of this, she gave up any pretense of working, and exhaled a long breath, tossing her pen haphazardly onto the desk. She ran a hand through her hair and removed her glasses, putting them in their case in her top desk drawer.

Getting to her feet, she looked around the office, noticing that the office was beginning to fill up as people began arriving to start their days. In another ten minutes or so, the office would be filled to the brim, with agent and junior agents alike.

Glancing down at the clock again, she decided to go meet Peter at the check-in, as they were going to have to call her anyway in order for him to get access. Civilians weren't allowed into the FBI office area of the Federal Building unaccompanied, unless they had their credentials granting the proper clearance, which he did not, though they should be coming in soon, hopefully. Moving against the flow of foot traffic, she heard a familiar voice ahead of her as she approached the corridor leading to the turn-styles at the security checkpoint.

"I know how to get there!" Peter was saying to a flustered looking woman with short black hair, who was following him through the crowd of people in the hallway, trying to get him to listen to her.

"I need you to slow down!" The woman said, staring up at him while trying to keep up with his long stride, and at the same time avoid oncoming foot traffic.

Olivia was impressed that Peter had made it this far past the security guards without getting tackled. His performance at the checkpoint must have been memorable. She saw security personnel trailing the distraught woman, their attention definitely focused on the unfolding situation, and decided that she should step in before something untoward happened.

"Her office is right up there." Peter said irritably, without breaking his stride and pointing down the hallway in front him. "I've been here before!"

"Sir!" the woman said, her voice getting firmer. "You don't have the clearance to walk here unescorted!" She looked back over her shoulder at the approaching security, nodding her head in Peter's direction.

"Peter!" Olivia said, moving down the passage toward him.

Peter came to a stop a few steps away, giving her his usual once over before speaking a second later.

"We need to talk." he said, then spun back toward the upset woman. "Is that okay with you?" he said snidely to the woman, throwing a hand in her direction. "Am I allowed to talk to her?"

The dark-haired woman glanced Olivia's way, her eyebrows arched.

"It's okay." Olivia told the other woman, forestalling an approaching security agent with a hand thrust in his direction. "I got him."

The woman nodded, and threw a glare Peter's way for good measure before leaving them. He returned the look, and then turned to her with a serious look on his face. Olivia decided she didn't like the look one bit. It appeared this wasn't going to be a social visit after all. The uneasy feeling in her gut returned tenfold.

"Come with me." She gave him a tentative smile, and tugged the sleeve of his jacket, guiding him back down the corridor. "She didn't seem too happy with you." she said after a moment, looking up at him as they approached the private offices.

Peter shrugged, his lips thinned with aggravation. "The feelings mutual." he said without a hint of his usual sarcasm. "Like I haven't been through her checkpoint more than once." he muttered.

Olivia took in his clenched jaw, and straight-ahead stare. He was either very angry, or he was determined to have his way about something. Of the two, she would prefer for him to be angry, anger she could deal with. It was his stubborn streak that she might have a problem with. Ahead of her she saw Agent Broyles exit his office, talking with another agent as the two of them headed for the short flight of steps down to the open office area. She angled them toward the now vacant office.

"In here." she said, holding one of the double doors open for Peter.

He raised his eyebrows at the use of her superior's office, but made no comment as he passed her by, moving toward the wall of windows on the far side of the room.

"Where's your father?" she said, closing the door behind her. She moved across the room and lounged against the corner of Broyles' desk, where it sat near the windows.

"Walter is at the hotel." Peter said, looking down on the office floor, and then turning back toward her. "But don't worry, your agents are standing guard. Not that it matters, cause the man is unconscious." He spread his arms out wide dramatically, as he paced the limited floor space, navigating around the chairs in front of Broyles's desk.

Olivia moved over to the window, leaning against it with one arm and listened to Peter's ranting, while glancing down at her coworkers. She saw Broyles near her desk, his bald head swiveling as he looked around the open space, presumably for herself.

"He was awake until five in the morning, reciting the chemical compositions of his favorite beverages to me." Peter continued, pointing a finger at his chest. "That was right after he finished lecturing me on how I'd squandered my above average intellect and my substantial education, all the while I might add, he was standing there naked. Because he prefers the breeze."

Looking away from the window, she pursed her lips, running her eyes down his lanky frame and taking in his rumpled appearance. He hadn't shaved, of course, but his hair was unusually unkempt, and his button down shirt was untucked, hanging loosely under his jacket. There were bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep, which was understandable, considering his father had apparently kept him up all night.

Olivia felt a wave of relief run through her and smiled. It was just about Walter and their living conditions. Frankly, she was surprised it taken this long for him to come to her about setting up new arrangements. Living out of a hotel room with his father, and no privacy to boot, she didn't think she'd have lasted as long as he had. She'd mentioned their situation to Broyles when she'd given him the paperwork for getting their credentials. He'd only said they were working on it. She'd have to start pushing him.

"Well, your living arrangements were only supposed temporary." she said. "We're gonna find you an apartment so that-"

Peter shook his head, looking away from her and up at the ceiling."Olivia, don't bother." he said, cutting her off.

"What do you mean?" she asked, as an ice pick stabbed into her gut. "Don't…don't you want to get out of the hotel?"

He looked away from her swallowing, and running his tongue along the inside of his lip. There was a deep crease above the bridge of his nose. When his eyes found hers again, she knew what he was going to say. _You're leaving. But you said everything was okay! Why are you leaving me? I…We need you here! _The ice pick twisted a little tighter.

"Look, Olivia." he said, his voice surprisingly gentle as he broke her world. "I wanted to help. I felt bad. I still feel bad about what happened to you." His blue eyes bored into her, like he was trying to will her acceptance. "But the truth is…you don't need me here."

"That's not the truth." she said, shaking her head, managing to keep her voice steady. There was no Fringe division without him and Walter. She couldn't do this on her own. He had to stay.

"It is the truth. Things are happening here." he said, gesturing with one hand, his long fingers spread wide, and the other hand joined it a moment later. "Strange things that need investigating, that connect somehow to the insane work that Walter was doing way back when…but _he's_ the one with the answers. You need _him_. I'm just a…babysitter."

"Peter, you decipher what he says." she implored, trying to impose her will on him. "Things that other people can't even follow." _You have a place here, can't you see that?_ She couldn't say that to him though, somehow she knew that if she did, it would only spur his resistance.

"No, not anymore." He shook his head vigorously, his voice getting a little louder. "Anybody can do that. There's nothing special about me." he finished, pointing a thumb in his direction.

She played the only card she had left, as futile as she knew it would be. "But you're his son." she pleaded in a low voice.

He hesitated, licking his lips. His eyes shifted away from her again and wandered around the room. "That's not the only thing." he said after a moment.

Olivia's eyes narrowed at his demeanor. He was lying, or at the least, not telling her the whole truth. There was something else going on here, and she suspected it was the real reason he wanted to leave all of a sudden.

"I don't do well staying in one place." Peter continued, still not meeting her gaze. "You know that…" He paused, finally looking her in the eye and shaking his head. "This isn't the job for me, Olivia."

"If you leave, so does he." Olivia said, deciding that if he could bend the truth, so could she.

"Really?" Peter said, his trademark sarcasm coming through. "You're telling me that if the Federal government wants to get Walter Bishop out of a mental institution, they can't do that without the consent of his son? C'mon, that's ridiculous!"

"It's your father." Olivia said innocently, shrugging her shoulders. "He's made it very clear that if you leave, he won't cooperate with our investigations." That wasn't exactly what he'd said, but it was close enough for her.

Peter lips almost disappeared as he squeezed them together, rolling his eyes and look upwards. "I don't believe it." he muttered, furrowing his eyebrows in annoyance.

Olivia nodded her head. "Yeah, he would rather go back to St. Claire's…than work here without you." she said in a steady voice, trying to keep her face straight. "He said that more than once."

She watched as his shoulders relaxed back, and he swallowed, shaking his head back and forth in resignation. She had him. Again. The ice pick in her gut unwound, and she exhaled a slow breath as his blue-eyed gaze settled on her.

"Was he wearing clothes at the time?" he asked dryly, a faint smile forming on his lips.

Olivia grinned, nodding her head. "Yep, he most definitely was."

Her gaze wandered from his eyes, down his face, and then was drawn then to his shoulder, where a long strand of golden hair, stuck to his corduroy jacket, grabbed her attention. There was a distinctive kink near one end where it had obviously been in a ponytail. She hadn't worn hers in a ponytail for a while, in fact, didn't think she'd worn it in a ponytail since the day John had died.

She looked up, meeting his curious gaze expressionlessly. Peter glanced down at his coat, trying to see what she'd been focused on. There was a slight flinch as he noticed the hair, and his face went red beneath his thick scruff. He turned away from her, rubbing his neck uncomfortably.

Olivia turned in the opposite direction, and looked out the window, vaguely noting that Broyles was no longer on the office floor.

Well. That explained his visit to old…friends, as he put it. In a way, it was a relief, as he was obviously no longer interested in her, and that would make keeping their relationship professional much easier. She tried to ignore the melancholy feeling that swelled up, as what girl doesn't like holding an attractive guy's attention, even if she never planned to act on it.

The door opened behind them, drawing a startled jump from both her and Peter, as Broyles walked in. He stopped, surprised at their presence in his office, and stared suspiciously between the two of them.

"Dunham. Bishop. I've been looking for you." he said, focusing his sharp eyes on her. "What are you doing in here? Is there a problem?"

"Uh…no." Olivia croaked, then cleared her throat. "There's no problem, sir." She glanced over at Peter, seeing if he would prove her wrong.

Closing the door behind him, Broyles crossed over to his desk and sat down. "Then what are you two doing in here?" he asked, clasping his hands together.

"Uh…we…uh…" she stuttered, her mind floundering to come up with an excuse. Why in the hell had she chosen his office for their talk?

"Actually, I needed to talk to you." Peter stepped in smoothly, cutting her off, and shifting Broyles attention to him.

Olivia looked over at him desperately, feeling that ice pick again as the blood began pounding in her ears. He was going over her head to tell Broyles he was quitting. It was over.

Peter glanced over at her, his eyes widening slightly at whatever he saw on her face. She supposed it was fear. The muscles in his face tightened, and he turned back to Broyles.

"I…It was…nothing important," he said at last, shrugging, and giving her superior a chagrined smile. "It can wait. Did you need to speak to Agent Dunham? I can wait outside."

"Actually, I need both of you." Broyles said, his eyelids narrow slits as he scrutinized their faces. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he went on. "There's something you two and Dr. Bishop need to see."

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**So that's the first part of 1x04, I hope everyone enjoys it. Thanks for reading, and leave me a review if you have any thoughts about it. I love reading them. Thanks again!**


	29. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

**.**

**-Chelsea, Massachusetts**

**Peter** sat in the back seat of Olivia's black, newly issued mini-suv, staring mutely out the window at the dreary weather as Agent Broyles made arrangements for Walter's transportation from the front passenger seat. From the sound of it, the agents stationed back at the hotel had had some trouble getting Walter to open the door for them. He grinned despite his gloomy mood, remembering his father's jagged, saw-tooth snoring as he'd left the hotel room. When he'd told Olivia that Walter was unconscious, he hadn't been joking. After a few minutes Broyles ended his call, glancing toward him over the back seat.

"Your father was reluctant to leave the hotel room without you, Bishop." Broyles said. "He also insisted on running through a yoga routine before he would accompany my agents."

Peter let out a self-deprecating laugh, "Welcome to my life, Agent Broyles." he said, trying not to sound bitter. He must have failed though, as the special agent's eyes pinned him to the back seat briefly, before he twisted back to the front. "Just be glad today isn't Tuesday, or your agents would have been in for a shock."

He stretched out his neck, twisting his chin from side to side with one hand, until he heard his spine crack. Letting the hand fall back to his lap, he relaxed back in the seat, closing his eyes. Not a goddamn thing had gone the way he'd intended when he'd texted her earlier that morning. She had gotten her way with him, again. _Resistance is futile. _The thought forced out a spontaneous snort as he tried to suppress a chuckle.

Olivia's eye darted to his in the rearview mirror, her brows furrowed in curiosity at his stifled outburst. Peter watched her watch him, her green eyes shifting between the road and himself, and he thought of the look on her face when he'd been about to tell Broyles he was quitting. It had been a look of pure, unadorned panic, and the first time he'd ever seen such on her face. It had been disturbing, and he'd found he couldn't make himself say the words. She was desperate for him to stay, even after she'd obviously put two and two together with that fucking hair. He'd had his own moment of panic then, and had thought about trying to explain, but Broyles had walked in before he'd had a chance to. Looking back, Peter was glad he had. Trying to explain the hair would have been exceedingly awkward. Olivia had appeared not to care anyway, and why would she? To her, he was just a friend and coworker, and the key to Walter's continued cooperation with the FBI, nothing more. Anything beyond that was just wishful thinking on his part.

Agent Broyles had refused to tell them anything more about whatever it was he wanted them to see, so Peter was surprised when the other government vehicle Olivia was following made a sudden turn into a large parking lot, with a nondescript warehouse on the far side. It appeared to house some kind of manufacturing business, or had at one time, judging by the sign mounted high up on one side of the building. It seemed to be vacant now however, as the football field sized parking lot was empty, except for several official looking sedans parked at one end of the building in front of the massive doors of a freight entrance. His surprise came from the lack of police and emergency vehicles usually present at the scenes all the cases they'd worked up to that point.

Olivia followed the other vehicle around the perimeter of the parking lot, before coming to a stop parallel to the row of sedans. Broyles was sliding out of his seat and closing the door behind him before the little suv came to a complete stop, and Olivia hesitated, staring down at her lap, before glancing up at him in the mirror again, and then exiting the vehicle herself without saying a word. There had been little talking between them since they'd left Broyles office. From the back seat, he watched as Walter climbed out of one of the waiting sedans, looked around and moved over to the nearest of the trench-coated agents standing near the entrance. He shook his hand and introduced himself, before moving on to another of the agents. At the confused looks his father left in his wake, Peter gritted his teeth and climbed out a moment later.

Upon hearing his door close, Olivia turned toward him, her face mostly unreadable as she had already slipped into her Agent Dunham persona. There was hint of a question in her eyes as they regarded each other. _Are you coming or going?_ She seemed to say with her pointed look. Before he could formulate an equally ambiguous response, she swung around and trailed after Agent Broyles as he and the group of agents headed toward a small door set off to one side from the freight entrance.

Peter watched her backside for a moment, taking in her purposeful stride as she tried to corral Walter from where he was hopscotching through the puddles dotting the space between the row of cars and the building. It had rained heavily the night before, and his father had apparently decided that now as a good time as any to brush up on his one to two leg transitions. He brushed her hand aside as executed a one-two-one sequence and then spun around, grinning idiotically like he expected an applause.

"Walter!" he called as he closed the distance between them, having seeing Olivia's thin smile. "I think Agent Dunham would like your assistance. Let's go." He propelled his father toward the doorway with a firm hand at his back.

"Peter!" Walter exclaimed, twisting his head over his shoulder. "Where did you come from?"

Olivia threw him a grateful look and hurried forward to join the others as they filed though the entrance to the warehouse.

"I just got here, Walter." Peter said, keeping his eyes on Olivia's slender form as she disappeared from sight through the doorway. "Just the same as you."

"Oh...when you were gone this morning..." Walter started, rubbing his palms gingerly up and down the breast of his dark overcoat. "After last night...I...I thought you might have-"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Peter interrupted curtly. "C'mon, before they leave us behind." He increased their pace with a nudge to Walter's elbow.

Beyond the doorway was a narrow brick-walled anteroom, pallidly lit by several wire-mesh covered light fixtures suspended from the ceiling by threaded rods. Opposite the entrance was another doorway, through which Peter saw Olivia's blond hair covered black coat disappear. They moved through the anteroom and into a narrow corridor, at the end of which was an open stairwell leading down to the main floor of the warehouse, which was sectioned off with chain-linked fencing. In the center of the space was a long black bus, clearly not of the passenger variety, and several more black sedans parked at odd angles to one another. As they followed the others down the steps, Peter's eyes were immediately drawn to the camouflaged men wearing full body armor, helmets, and carrying automatic weapons standing guard in various positions around the warehouse floor.

He paused momentarily, surprised at presence of soldiers. Whatever they'd been brought here to see, it was apparently important enough to warrant protection by the military. His mind wandered to possible explanations for their involvement as he followed Walter down the steps. The first thing that came to mind was aliens, but he figured that was probably pushing it just a bit. A virus or contagion of some sort seemed much more reasonable, though not really something he wanted to see first-hand.

Agent Broyles and Olivia were stopped at the bottom of the steps in front of table being manned by another soldier, who appeared to be checking people in. The man handed Broyles a thick clipboard, which he signed and handed back without comment, and then moved farther into the warehouse with Olivia in tow. Walter approached the soldier, holding out his hand in greeting.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Walter Bishop." he said, taking the confused fellow's hand.

"Uh...hello?"

Peter grabbed Walter by the shoulder, turning him in the direction of Agent Broyles and Olivia, who had stopped to wait for them a few paces away. He have the soldier an apologetic smile, and prodded his father to join them.

Agent Broyles led them past the bus and toward a section of the warehouse that had been partitioned off from the rest of the warehouse by crisscrossing structural members with translucent plastic, similar to sort used to make greenhouses, stretched tight over the outside. A dark haired woman wearing a white lab coat exited the enclosed space, talking excitedly with a man in a dark suit who was listening intently to whatever she had to say. Peter stared uneasily at the plastic room and the woman's white coat, wondering what exactly Broyles was taking them to.

"Yesterday," Agent Broyles said, as they followed him across the concrete floor. "There was an explosion at a construction site in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. A crane collapsed. Left three dead, two dozen injured."

"I saw something about that on the news yesterday." Olivia said. "There was an explosion of kind? Was it an attack?"

Broyles glanced back at her, shaking his head. "We're not sure. The public was told that it was a gas main explosion, which, technically, is the truth. It's what caused the explosion I want you to see. We had it transported here late last night, and we've got the NSA and CDC gathering data."

Peter eyes narrowed at the agent's choice of words._ It? _His mentioning of the CDC and the plastic room, which could be some kind of containment facility, made him want to turn around and leave right then and there.

They walked past another armed guard, and into the plastic covered room. The room was brightly lit by a ring of multi-fixtured light stands, encircling another enclosed space. In the center of the room was what appeared to a rectangular workspace or laboratory surrounded by a segmented vinyl strip curtain wall. Through the clear vinyl, Peter could make out more people in white lab coats, and several pieces of large equipment resting along the inside perimeter of the curtained off area.

Agent Broyles stopped before the curtains, looking back at them. "Doctor Bishop, I wanted you to see this as soon as possible." he said, pushing aside the vinyl strips and revealing the interior of the chamber. He held the gap open for them as they marched past him.

The men and women in lab coats looked up as they entered, stepping back from a work table set up in the center of the space. Peter's attention was drawn straightaway to the object sitting in the middle of the table.

It was a charcoal gray tube or cylinder, made of an indeterminate material, and about the length of a large watermelon, but narrower, sitting upright on a four-pronged stand. The cylinder tapered to a rounded point at the top and narrowed slightly at the rounded off bottom. Though Peter had never seen anything like it before, he wouldn't have thought much of it, if it weren't for the groove cut into it, starting at the bottom, and spiraling around it all the way to the tip. A blue luminescence tracked along the groove, moving from the bottom and swirling around the cylinder until it reached the rounded tip, where it disappeared momentarily, before reappearing at the bottom and starting over. The glowing light reminded him of that old show _Knight Rider_ he'd watched as a kid, and the way KITT's red light had moved back and forth, hinting at intelligence beneath the hood of the car.

Agent Broyles and Olivia moved around the table, standing opposite of Walter, who had slowly approached the cylinder with a dumbfounded look on his face.

"What is it?" Peter asked. If anything it looked like a huge caliber bullet to him, albeit with the moving blue light, it was apparent it was something else all together.

"It's why you're here." Broyles said, as they all stared at the object. "We don't know."

"What...it just fell from the sky?" Olivia said, turning to her superior.

"That's what we thought at first." Broyles said, shaking his head in response. "Turns out, it came from underground. The thing blasted through an unused subway tunnel into a gas main, which is what caused the explosion."

"Underground." Peter said skeptically, crossing his arms across his chest. He didn't see how that could be possible.

"Came to rest right on the surface. As if someone had carefully placed it there."

Walter picked up magnifying glass off the table, and began to examine the object closely, his mouth hanging open slightly in concentration. He leaned in close, his eyes narrowing on the view through the lens. After a moment he looked, and turned to one of the white-coated technicians.

"Solid iridium?"

"We think so, yes." the man said, stepping forward. He had a pair of noise-canceling headphones hanging around his neck.

"And subsonic vibrations?" Walter said, looking at the man shrewdly.

The technician blinked, caught off guard at the question. "Well...yes. At two megahertz, and then again at four." he replied. "But how could you know that?"

"You mean this thing is vibrating?" Peter blurted. If it was emitting vibrations, he wondered what else it might be emitting. Radiation perhaps? Surely they would have checked it for that already. If he remembered right, the book _The Tommyknockers_ had started the same way. At least the light was blue instead of green. Hopefully no ones teeth would start falling out.

Olivia glanced at him, then turned her attention back to his father. "Dr. Bishop, do you have any idea what this may be?"

Walter looked down at the table nervously and swallowed. "An idea? Yes." he said quietly.

"Okay..." Olivia said uncertainly when he didn't elaborate. "Do...you feel like sharing that with us?" She smiled, as if trying to put him at ease.

"No." Walter said, staring at the cylinder. "It's too early."

"Too early for what, Walter?" Peter said, seeing the frustration on Olivia's face. He threw a hand toward the strange object on the table. "Do you know what this is or not? Cause if you do, now would be a good time to enlighten us."

Walter turned to him sharply. "I'm not certain, Peter!" he said, "If I was, don't you think I would tell you?"

"No, I don't actually." Peter said. "Your track record up to this point has been dismal!"

He was about to say more, but Olivia's sharp eyes and the minute shake of her head silenced him. Broyles was looking between himself and his father, his eyebrows angled in disapproval. He sighed, turning away from Walter. She had a point, he supposed. Now was not the time or place to get into it. His father's tendency to keep pertinent information to himself could be dealt with later.

"As I was going to tell you," Broyles started, turning his attention to Olivia. "This isn't the first time one of these has shown up. 1987 at Quantico, Colonel Jacobson was in charge of the investigation." He handed her thick black organizer, apparently containing pertinent information on the first appearance.

"Henry Jacobson?" Olivia said with recognition.

"I spoke to him myself this morning." Broyles said. "He's expecting a visit. Said he's looking forward to seeing you again."

Olivia nodded slowly, a pensive expression on her face. She glanced in Peter's direction and moved around the table, coming to a stop beside him.

"So what do you wanna do?" she said softly.

Peter turned toward her, hugging himself tightly. He leaned forward, looking down at this shoes, then back up to her with a sigh. In her agent demeanor, he couldn't tell from her face whether she cared if he stayed or left. However, he remembered the desperation on her face in Broyles office, and he knew she wanted him to stay even if she wasn't showing it now. Besides, he couldn't just leave, at least without finding out what that thing was first. It was intriguing.

"What kind of man would take off on you the minute a can of magic space soup appears out of nowhere?" he asked with grin despite himself, motioning toward the gray cylinder.

"Who says it came from space?" Walter said quickly, his voice tense.

"It's a joke, Walter." Peter said, glancing toward his father, feeling his annoyance with the man return.

"Thank you for staying." she said gratefully, her eyes intent on his.

Peter leaned close to Olivia's ear. "This is the last one." he whispered. "Then I'm gone." He meant it to. As he pulled back, he caught a whiff of her scent, which sent his pulse racing as she leaned away from him, a sly look in her eyes. There was the faintest hint of smile on her lips.

"Okay." she mouthed silently and spun away from him, keeping her gaze on him until she turned around and left the room.

Letting out a breath, Peter watched her go, trying to get her scent out of his memory, yet savoring it at the same time. It was the same one he'd smelled before, the day she'd gone into that damn tank and she'd fallen into his arms. He'd replayed that moment for days afterward. Trying to clear his head, he turned back to others. Walter was staring at the object intensely.

"We need to get this back to the lab, at once." his father said, keeping his eyes on it.

"We can't risk transferring this back to the university." Broyles objected. "We'd rather you stay-"

"If you require my perspicacity such as it exists," Walter said, turning quickly the cylinder towards Agent Broyles, cutting him off. "Then there are certain fundamental requirements, not the least of which is access to my equipment! My lab!" His voice had risen in volume with every word, and ended with a snarl as Broyles eyed widened at the outburst.

Peter rolled his eyes, shaking his head at his father's obstinance. He'd end up getting his way of course. It wasn't beyond his father to hold his own knowledge hostage, if it would get him what he wanted.

Broyles eyes shifted unhappily to him from Walter. Peter shrugged uncomfortably in response. What did the man expect him to do? He couldn't force Walter to do anything, his father wasn't a sane man, or a marionette that he could direct at will.

* * *

**Olivia** turned her rental car down Henry Jacobson's street, double checking the address again against the slip of paper in her hand, though there was really no need. His house number was already permanently locked into her perfect memory. Leaning forward over the steering wheel, she slowed the down to get a better look at house numbers through the windshield. She still had several more blocks to go.

His neighborhood was of the nicer sort, with neatly trimmed lawns and children playing in the front yards. She had to slow down several times to give an errant child chasing after a ball or riding their bike the right of way, but she didn't mind. It was nice to see children at play. Children always seemed to lighten the load she sometimes felt on her shoulders, though she wasn't sure she'd ever be having any of her own. Slowing down, she let a small girl and man she assumed was her father cross the intersection in front of her, the little girl holding the man's pinky finger tightly with one pudgy hand. John had never wanted any children, he'd told her so on many occasions, usually when they'd see one acting up when they were out together. As she accelerated past the father and daughter, she glanced over at him through her driver's door window. Their eyes met and he raised a hand in the universal hello, which she returned with a smile. The man vaguely resembled Peter in size and build, down to his dark wavy hair, if not too much in the face, other than the need to shave. Idly thinking, she wondered if Peter had ever thought about children, or if he even liked children at all. It was hard for her to picture the sarcastic man bouncing a child on his knee. She shook her head and let out a jittery laugh. _Why in the world am I thinking about Peter and children? _The very idea was as insane as Walter. She told herself that it must have been the resemblance between the man she'd seen and the younger Bishop that brought it on.

Olivia checked the house numbers again, slowing down as she was almost at the address. She was looking forward to seeing her old mentor again, after the many years that had passed since her training. She remembered hearing about his retirement from the Academy a few years back, but had never had the chance to visit him before. During her time at Quantico, it was he who had encouraged her to join the counter-terrorism branch of the FBI, which ultimately led her to Fringe Division, and now back to him in an odd loop of circumstance. It was strange to think that he'd worked a Fringe-like case years before he'd taught her at the Academy, and now she was working a case directly related to his.

Broyles had said that they'd only become aware of the pattern about nine months ago, and Roy McComb's precognitive drawings and models, only went back a little further than that. If the cylinder had shown up before, almost twenty years ago, just how long had these strange events been going on for? She wasn't entirely sure she could trust that her boss was telling her everything yet.

Olivia pulled her rental over, coming to a stop on the opposite side of the street from Henry Jacobson's house. Shutting the vehicle off, she stared out her window for moment, taking in the well manicured yard and shrubs surrounding the front porch. She could definitely picture her old teacher living there, outside tending to his lawn in his retirement.

She grabbed her notepad off her passenger seat, though she probably wouldn't need it, and got out, closing the door behind her. Henry Jacobson lived in an old two and half story Tudor-styled home, somewhat similar to the style of the old Bishop home in Cambridge. It had beige siding and a dark shingled roof, with a gable over a third floor on one side and a narrow canopy which wrapped around the corner of the house, covering the L-shaped front porch.

The front door opened as she crossed the street and her old instructor walked out, a smile on his face as he waited for her, leaning on the rail of the steps leading down from the porch to the sidewalk. Smiling, Olivia moved up the walk from the street, stopping at the bottom of the steps and looking up at Henry Jacobson.

He was a little thicker than she remembered, and his short curly hair a little grayer and quite a bit thinner than it had been. She saw that he still favored the collared shirt under the sweater look that was known for back at the Academy. His nose and ears seemed a little larger too, though she wasn't about to tell him that he looked older. It really had been a long time.

"Well, well, well." he said as she approached, "Look who we have here."

"I was hoping I'd have an excuse to see you again, sir." She grinned, holding out her hand as he moved down the steps toward her.

He took her hand, giving it a shake, before pulling her into a light hug. "Oh...Olivia!" he said with a laugh, pulling back from her and looking her over. "It's so good to see you again!" He held up a finger, waggling it between them. "And there's no more sirs, not anymore."

"I don't know," she said with amusement. "I'm not sure I can break that habit. You were pretty insistent on it."

Henry shook his head, "Only with the ones who refused to listen." he said. "And that was never you." He turned, holding out a hand toward the front door. "C'mon, I'll get you up cup of coffee, and we'll talk."

Olivia followed him into the house, which was just as clean on the inside as one who would expect from the condition of his yard on the outside. He led her to a sitting room off the foyer and left to prepare said coffee. While he was gone, she moved about the room, checking out the pictures sitting on the various pieces of furniture situated throughout the room. Sitting on a desk behind a straight-backed armchair covered in a flowery fabric was collection of framed photos of him and his wife. She picked up their wedding photo, noting how different he looked as a young man. Olivia had met his wife once before, at an FBI banquet, not long after she'd graduated from the Academy. Setting the picture back in place, she looked up as Henry returned, carrying two cups of steaming coffee.

"How's your wife? Is she here?" she said, taking the cup from his outstretched hand.

Her former teacher grimaced slightly, a morose look settling in his face. "She passed." he said in a low voice, looking over at the pictures on the desk.

"Oh...I'm so sorry." Olivia said, embarrassed to her core. "I...I didn't know."

He turned back to her, the look of sadness disappearing, replaced by acceptance. He took a seat in the armchair, and motioned for her to sit in the love-seat across from him.

Olivia did so, taking a sip of her coffee, forcing herself not to cringe at the bitterness. She set the cup down on the coffee table between them.

"Don't be sorry." he said, plucking at the sleeve on his blue sweater. "It's actually been more than a year since she died. It's still difficult, of course. I suppose it always will be." Henry was silent for a moment, looking over at their wedding picture. "Jessica took care of the house. Hell...she took care of everything." He chuckled morbidly, and then took a drink of his coffee and grimaced. "I apologize for what has to be horrible coffee."

Olivia picked her cup back up and took another sip. "No, it's delicious, really." she said, looking at him over the rim. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened with your wife?"

Henry sighed, leaning back in his chair. He looked over at the picture again. "Cancer. Invasive Lobular Carcinoma, to be exact." There was a silence then, as he picked the wedding picture, rubbing his wife's face with his thumb.

"I'm so sorry," Olivia said again after a pause. "My mother died of breast cancer also, when I was a teenager."

"So you know how terrible it can be." he said, placing the picture back on the desk, and then hesitating. "I…I know you lost someone recently too."

He inclined his head, directing her attention to a folded newspaper sitting on the coffee table. She saw John's face, and the article that had been written about him after his death. The article that had omitted all the important facts, like how he'd betrayed her and his country. How he'd tried to kill her. Olivia wondered if Jacobson new the truth. Looking up from the article, she tried to read the look on his face.

"My condolences." he said. "It's not easy losing a partner. I know you and Agent Scott were close."

They stared at one another without speaking for several moments. She couldn't determine if he was aware of the circumstances of her partner's death. It wasn't common knowledge, but she assumed he still had connections inside the Bureau. In any case, Olivia didn't want to talk about John, she didn't even like thinking about him. "What can you tell me about Quantico, 1987?" she asked stoically instead.

Sighing, Henry looked down at his lap, then rose from his seat and crossed the room to another doorway and disappeared. Olivia glanced down at his photo in the article again. _You bastard,_ she thought for what must be the hundredth time since his death. She put her coffee cup down over his face.

Getting to her feet, Olivia trailed after her old friend, following him through the doorway into an office. Henry was seated in front a desk, reclining back in a wooden swivel chair looking through an old file folder. The desk was littered in mementos from his time in the military, where he had risen to the rank of colonel, before joining the FBI later in his career. She sat down in a chair across from him, crossing her legs in front of her.

"Master Sergeant Stuart Malick." he said, handing her an old black and white photograph.

Olivia glanced at the photo, not recognizing the name or the face in the profile view of a young man in fatigues and helmet.

"He was at his post at the Marine base on the night of June 22." he continued. "His job was to watch the motion sensors, perimeter security, to ensure that there was no breach at the base. Except on that night, the sensors went nuts. What we found was this."

He handed her another black and white photo. Olivia looked at it, instantly recognizing the cylinder she'd seen in person earlier that day. She felt a thrill run through her. It was the same one, or another of the same sort.

"It was metallic cylinder, exactly twenty-four inches tall, twelve inches in diameter." he said, looking back down at the file folder. "He assumed it fell from the sky. That perhaps it was a piece of a satellite. Except it wasn't. Stranger still, although it seemed to be a solid piece of hard metal, it wasn't...it was vibrating."

"At two megahertz, and then again at four."

Henry looked at her keenly. "There's another one?"

Olivia hesitated before replying. "Where is this one?" she said. "Still at Quantico?"

"I was called in to investigate." Henry explained. "We determined it was transmitting...something. A signal that we couldn't decode. Forty-eight hours after we found it, there was an explosion unlike anything I'd ever seen." He shook his head, remembering the moment. "It went through the floor to the basement below. It exploded down...and was gone. I'll give you my files, whatever you need. But this was a weird one, Olivia...and if it's happening again, as a friend, I'd ask you to stay as far away from that thing as you can."

Olivia smiled thinly, shaking her head. "It's my job." she said, raising her shoulders. "If anyone could understand that, it's you."

Henry met her eyes for a moment, before letting his gaze fall to his lap. He nodded with resignation. "I do understand." he sighed. "Duty is a heavy burden. I'm not at all surprised you carry it well." he said, closing the file and passing it over to her.

"It's been great to see you again." she said, replacing the photos in the file and getting to her feet. "I wish I could stay longer...but-"

"Don't mention it." he cut in, rising to his feet also. "I know how it is." He pulled her into another hug, tighter this time. "Good luck, Olivia. Take care of yourself."

"I will." she said, hugging him back.

* * *

**Astrid** looked up from her computer at the sound of the lab doors opening. It had been a quiet day up to that point, having had the lab to herself all day.

She was surprised to see Agent Broyles holding the door open for Peter, who was carrying a large object wrapped in a dark cloth. Walter filed in after them, quickly removing his jacket and donning his beloved lab coat. Olivia didn't appear to be with them, which she thought odd.

"Hey guys." she said, slipping off her stool. "What's going on?"

"This, is your case." Peter said, moving to one of the empty lab tables and setting the object down. "Walter refused to work on it in the lab that Agent Broyles already had set up, so now we're here."

Agent Broyles grunted, obviously irritated at the situation. "That does about sum it up." he said, helping Peter unwrap the object, and set it upright on a little stand.

"What is that?" Astrid said, staring at the object. She was fascinated by the tight spiral and the blue light moving along it. She'd never seen anything like it.

"We don't know what it is." Agent Broyles said. "That's what you're here to help Dr. Bishop find out." He looked over at Peter, and then at Dr. Bishop, who was digging through one of the cabinets nearby. "Does your father have everything he needs, now?"

Peter shrugged, looking over at his father. "Who the hell knows." he said, running a hand through his wavy hair. At Agent Broyles tight-lipped expression, he went on. "What, do you think I have any idea what's going on in that head of his?"

Astrid winced, looking between the two men. Peter's day off the day before had plainly not improved his mood. Agent Broyles expression became grim, as he and Peter stared each other down. She hoped fervently that Agent Dunham would walk through the lab doors at that moment as the tension almost crackled the air between the two men. Olivia didn't though, and to her surprise it was Dr. Bishop himself he broke the stalemate.

"Ah, here we are." he said, stepping in between his son and her superior. He held a handful of electrodes, the red and black wires trailing off them twisted together into a messy knot. Placing them on the table, he turned to Agent Broyles. "I'll get started on this right away. Time is of the essence, I believe."

Agent Broyles looked away from Peter and nodded, relief plain on his face. "Indeed it is." he replied. "Let me know the minute you find out anything." he said, turning to her.

"Of course, sir." Astrid replied, stepping up next to Dr. Bishop and taking knotted wires from his hands. "Here, Dr. Bishop, let me get that for you." The old scientist was struggling mightily to untangle the mess.

"Oh, thank you, dear." he said graciously. "Now...where did I leave that tuning fork?" he muttered to himself and strode away from them, moving toward the storage room.

She saw Agent Broyles and Peter eyed each other briefly, then the older man turned and walked stiffly out of the lab. Peter watched him for a moment, before glancing in her direction, his skin tight on his face with irritation.

"Where's Olivia?" she asked, pulling a particularly entangled wire through a complicated loop while watching him in her peripheral vision.

"She's meeting with some former agent," Peter said, the muscles on his face relaxing minutely, "who supposedly, has seen one of these before."

He watched her work for a few minutes silently, then retreated to Olivia's office, closing the door behind him. Dr. Bishop returned a few minutes later, and together, they began attaching the electrodes to the surface of the strange cylinder. She kept her eyes on Peter through the office window as they went about it, hoping he would snap out of whatever funk he was in, but he just sat in Olivia's chair, staring resolutely at the office wall in front of him. Whatever was going on with him, it wasn't improving, and actually seemed to be getting worse. She made a mental note to call Olivia later to talk to her about him.

"Alright, young lady." Dr. Bishop said when as they finished with the electrodes and plugged the wire ends into a decrepit looking piece of equipment he'd set on the table next to the cylinder. "I believe we are ready."

"And what exactly is this?"

"All in good time, my dear." he replied, bouncing the tuning fork off the edge of the lab table.

The fork emitted a crystal clear, high-pitched ringing sound that maintained a steady tone, until Dr. Bishop placed the solid end on the tip of the cylinder. The effect was immediate, and the tone began to increase in pitch at a steady pace, rising in a crescendo, until it reached a point just below that which would have sent her hands to her ears, and leveled off. Dr. Bishop tilted his head, listening closely to the sound. His mouth hung open slightly, and his eyes went blank as he were in a daze. She was about to ask if he was okay, when his face became animated again, and he set the tuning for down on the table.

"So...what does that mean, Dr. Bishop?"

He rested an elbow in one hand and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, staring at the cylinder. "I'm not sure." he said after a moment. "Something...I...I need to cogitate." He moved away from her slowly, still rubbing his chin as he descended the stairs to the basement storage room.

Astrid turned back to the mysterious cylinder, feeling uneasy about its presence in the lab. Whatever it was, she hoped they would be able to get rid of it soon. The effect it had on the tuning fork, had raised its creepiness factor by the power of ten according to her personal measurements.

* * *

**Olivia** stared up at the ceiling of her bedroom, thinking about the phone call she'd received from her assistant earlier that evening. Peter again. She sighed, rubbing a hand across her forehead. She had avoided thinking about the last words he'd said to her before she'd left for Virginia for much of the day, but she couldn't seem to think of anything but them now.

He was serious this time, she was sure of it. Whatever had been holding him here, and clearly it hadn't been herself, or Walter for that matter, no longer seemed to apply. What the hell had happened to bring about his sudden attitude change? She just couldn't figure it out, figure him out. Had he ever been serious about any of it, or had he been playing her all along? Was it this...friend with the ponytail? She'd been avoiding thinking about that too, though she wasn't sure why exactly. She certainly had no claim to him. The few heated looks that had passed between them, didn't really mean anything. And that was how she wanted it, wasn't it? _Yes, that is how you want it._ She answered herself as a yawn broke free.

Olivia looked over at her clock. It would be midnight soon, and she'd been laying there for an hour already. Her thoughts went back to Peter, as they had been doing all night. It wasn't some girl who was the cause of his sudden need to leave, she decided. And she didn't think he'd been playing with her either. For all his jokes and seeming indifference at times, she'd sensed a good man underneath his sarcastic exterior, on more than one occasion. He wouldn't just leave, not unless he had a compelling reason.

She felt her eyelids growing heavy, and yawned again. Rolling onto her side, she closed her eyes, determined to fall asleep. Tomorrow, she would try to talk him out of it again, or at least get him to tell her the real reason he wanted to leave, if she got the chance.

.

It seemed like she had just fallen asleep, when her cell phone rang, waking her instantly. She reached over to the nightstand, turned on the lamp and grabbed the phone without looking at the display. Only one person would be calling her this late.

"Agent Dunham." she said foggily, wondering what it could be now.

There was no answer. Just a hiss of static, cutting in and out.

"Hello?"

There was another burst of interference, and something else in the background. Had it been a voice?

"Helloo?" she said, drawing out the word, then pulling the phone from her ear to check the number. It was unlisted. She put the phone back to her ear. If no one said anything she was hanging up.

"_Olivia."_

Olivia bolted upright in her bed, her sleepiness a million miles away as her heart tried break free its confinement. That had been her name. She thought she knew that voice. It was familiar to her.

"Hello?"

"_Olivia."_ the faint voice repeated. It was impossible.

"John?" she whispered, brushing her hair absently from her face with one finger.

This couldn't be happening. John was dead. She'd seen him die right in front of her. His blood had been everywhere. It had bubbled from his lips as he struggled to say his last words, running down his cheek, then on her lap. He was dead.

There was no reply. The hiss of static went silent and she checked the display again. There was nothing, no call, her phone wasn't even on.

Reaching for her house phone, she dialed the number for the FBI dispatcher.

"Dispatch." a womans voice said, answering immediately.

"This is Agent Dunham," she said, her voice sounding breathless to her ears. "7-18-6-22-7-9. I need a call traced from my cell."

"How long ago was the call?"

"It just came in."

"Hold please." There was a pause, and she could hear the woman typing away at her keyboard in the intervening silence, before she was back on the line. "I'm sorry, we have no record of any calls in the last three hours."

"Oh...are you sure?"

"I'm sorry," the woman repeated, sounding annoyed. "That's what it says."

"Okay." Olivia said quietly, her eyes darting around her bedroom. "Thank you."

She hung the phone up, her eyes still trying to pierce the shadows of her room. Was she dreaming? Pinching her thigh hard, she decided she was awake. She swung her feet out of bed, feeling the cold of the hardwood through her thin socks. Getting to her feet, she moved about, turning on the other lamps in her room as she passed them by. Walking out into her living room, she grabbed her gun from its holster from where it was sitting on her mail table near the door. With her gun in her possession, her heart rate fell back to its normal gait as she searched her entire apartment for anything out of place.

After having searched every room and closet in her apartment, it was clear that she was alone. There was nothing. And she was awake, at least she thought she was.

Olivia moved back to her living room, and dropped down on one of the chairs across from her fireplace, gun still in hand. She could see the window in her bedroom from the seat, and her eyes never left it until it grew light outside. She had definitely been awake.

.

.

.

.

.

**Here's the second part of 1x04. The next part might take longer to post, as I suspect I'm going to have troubles. Thanks for reading and leave a review if you liked it. Thanks again.**


	30. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

.

**-Harvard University**

**Olivia **kept replaying the phone call she'd received the night before over and over, in a loop of reasoning that started something like this: She'd been asleep, and had been awakened by the ringing of her cell phone. She'd answered, and heard what sounded like John Scott saying her name. _John Scott was dead._ FBI dispatch claimed no calls had been made to her phone, and there was no record of the call on her phone, either. Yet she had not gone back to sleep. The huge pot of coffee she'd made, and then drank over the last five hours since the call, had made sure of that. It had not been a dream, unless dreams these days included such things as going to the bathroom three times, making toast, exercising, taking a shower, and then driving to the lab, all of which were things she did while she was awake. There had been no break in her train of thought, no gaps in her memory indicating that she'd dozed off and dreamt the whole thing, and nothing to indicate she was still dreaming. No teeth suddenly falling out or broken clocks or dinners with the Bishops. She was awake, and had been all along. Yet she _had_ been awakened by her cell phone ringing…and so on and so forth, just as she had been thinking since sitting in her chair, unloading and reloading her weapon to keep herself awake.

There was another possibility of course, that she was going crazy, but she didn't feel crazy. In fact, she felt surprisingly sane, rational even, as she started the loop over, and added parking her suv in the Harvard faculty lot to the running list of things she'd done since receiving the phone call. _Would I even know it if I was going crazy? Had Walter felt it creeping up on him? _She'd always heard that insane people didn't question their sanity, just went about it oblivious to their condition.

She felt a headache coming on, and rubbed at her temples, letting her head fall back against the seat rest and then letting out a gaping yawn. It was going to be a long day, and with the tiny amount of sleep she'd gotten, she was going to need a lot more coffee. She tilted the rearview mirror in her direction, noticing the red eyes and pallid skin tone of her face._ I look like shit. Oh well._ It wasn't like she had anyone to impress.

Olivia shut the engine off, then bent across her passenger seat, trying to reach the case file that Henry Jacobson had given her. It had somehow slid under the seat, and was stubbornly refusing to come within reaching distance of her questing fingers.

_KNOCK! KNOCK!_

The sudden noise startled her, causing her to jerk her upwards and bang her head hard on the glovebox.

"Shit!" she hissed, rubbing at a spot on the back of her head and twisting around to see who was the cause of her misfortune. Whoever it was, they were about to get an earful. The shock of seeing Peter's remorseful grin outside her window mitigated her anger, but only for a second or two. "Goddamnit, Peter!" she said, shoving her door open into his chest and forcing him backwards. "That hurt!"

She got out, still rubbing her head, and slammed the door shut behind her.

"Hey! Easy now!" Peter said, putting a hand to his chest and stepping aside as she marched past him. "It's not like I meant for you to...Olivia...wait!"

Olivia ignored him, opening her passenger door and retrieving the file folder from under the seat. She rested it on the seat cushion for a moment, feeling her anger deflate and embarrassment creep in. She may have overreacted…maybe. She was exhausted, after all. Turning her face away from Peter on the opposite side of the car, she saw Walter striding quickly toward the Kresge Building as if he were in a race against time itself.

She shook her head, amazed that somehow, she had managed to arrive at Harvard at nearly the same time the Bishops pulled up in their old wagon. Who could have guessed that Peter would show up early the day after he tried to quit. Letting out a breath, she reached up to the spot on her head again, running her fingers over it cautiously. There was going to be a lump, at the least. She pulled her hand back, checking it for any blood, then glanced down at the glovebox, trying to see if there were any sharp edges protruding. It had really hurt. She added it to the list of events since the phone call. And she definitely was awake now.

"Here, let me." Peter said from directly behind her. "Hold still."

"What are you..." she stopped, eyes wide, feeling him move in close. With the open door on her right, she was effectively wedged between him and the car.

Then she felt his hands on the back of her head, gently parting her hair, and then his breath as he leaned in close. Her fingers tightened on the upholstery of the passenger seat as the blood began to rush in her ears.

"I'm sorry you knocked your head, Olivia." he said quietly. His voice seemed deeper than normal as his fingers moved lightly through the hair on the back of her head. The sensation was almost hypnotizing.

"You...you should be." Olivia said, trying not to sound breathless. "That...uh...that really hurt." He needed to stop. His fingers were doing things to her they had no right to be doing. Her eyelids began to grow heavy as his soothing touch induced a feeling of lethargy.

"Well, I think you're gonna be okay." he said suddenly, pulling his hands away and stepping out of her personal space. "No bleeding. You might have a little bump though."

Olivia almost gasped at the loss of contact, and covered it with a cough, bringing her hand up over her mouth. Opening her eyes wide, she shook away her stupor and grabbed the file off the passenger seat, then closed the door behind her with a thud. Was he fucking with her? She expected to see his chesire grin when she turned around, but he was no longer there. Moving around the rear of her suv, she found him leaning on the back of the wagon, shielding his eyes as the sun broke through cloudy sky momentarily. She followed his gaze to Walter, standing impatiently at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Kresge Building entrance, waiting for them. He started pacing around in a small circle, shooting them looks ever other pass or so.

"He sure seems in a hurry." she said, stepping up beside him, but making sure to keep a safe distance between them.

Peter turned towards her, a disgruntled expression on his face. "Tell me about it." His head shook back and forth with aggravation. "Why do you think we're here so early?" he said glumly, looking back at his father. Before she could answer he went on. "If it was up to him, we would have been here an hour ago, hell, he might have spent the night here. He's been obsessed with that cylinder. It's all he's been talking about, and yet somehow, I still don't have a clue as to what it is."

Olivia observed his profile, taking in his slumped shoulders and the muscle tensing in his jaw. Of course Walter was the reason they were here so early. Now was probably not a good time to try to convince him to stay again.

"C'mon," she said, nodding toward his father. "We should catch up."

She moved past him toward the sidewalk, listening for his footsteps behind her. After a few seconds, he caught up with her, matching her pace wordlessly. It was early, but there were still students about, hustling between the buildings, trying to reach their classes on time. Some were shouldering trendy looking backpacks and dressed impeccably, other were adorned in simple sweats, looking like they had just rolled out of bed. During her time at Northwestern, she had always been a sweats and t-shirt kind of girl, much to the dismay of her roommate, Beth, who had fallen into the impeccably dressed category. Olivia smiled to herself, thinking of her old friend. She needed to return her calls one of these days.

"I am sorry about your head." Peter said abruptly, breaking the silence. "I never took you for someone to startle so easily."

Olivia let out a quiet humph. She supposed that could be construed as a compliment, though not really the sort a girl necessarily wanted to hear. She glanced up at him, trying to read his temperament. He seemed in better spirits now, with a suggestion of amusement on his lips. He was going to be gone soon, and Walter with him.

"Why are you really leaving, Peter?" she said, coming to a stop, deciding on a whim to talk about it now, instead of later. "I don't believe for a second that it's because of Walter, or that you're just…bored."

Peter continued on for a few strides down the sidewalk, then stopped, still facing away from her. He didn't respond, just stared down at the concrete in front of him.

"Is it about the money you owe to that guy Big Eddie? Because maybe the Bureau can-"

"Olivia, stop." he said, finally turning around. "I'm staying until we figure this case out. Then I have to go." His azure eyes were piercing, but sad. "I'm sorry."

"But why? Why now and not before?" She didn't want his apology, she wanted a fucking explanation. She wanted him to be swayed by her words, as she had been by Broyles's when he had recruited her. "We can do a lot of good here, don't you see that?" A wind kicked up, blowing her hair into her face. She absently tucked it back behind ears, watching his reactions intently.

Peter opened his mouth as if to reply, then closed it, swallowing heavily. He looked away from her and back towards his father, who was watching them fixedly from where he was waiting. He turned back to her, shaking his head slowly. "Walter's gonna cause a scene if we don't get over there." he said, turning away and moving toward his father.

"Is it because of me?" she said, staring at his back. It sounded false to her ears, but who else was left if it wasn't Walter and he wasn't in trouble?

He froze mid-step, and then spun back to her, swiveling on his heels.

"No." Peter said, twisting his head and stepping closer to her. "No…You're…" He smiled, then his mouth snapped shut and he wet his lips, looking away from her awkwardly. "It's nothing to do with you, okay?"

Their eyes locked, and after a moment she nodded reluctantly, and then walked past him toward Walter. From the way he'd reacted to her question, Olivia thought that it might indeed be about her, though she couldn't fathom how exactly. She sighed, and pushed it to the back of her mind to be pondered at a later time, most likely after he was gone. Right now, they had a case.

Walter was brimming with impatience when she reached him, with Peter arriving a moment later. He looked between them, his lined face twisted with irritation.

"Will you two pick up the pace?" he spat angrily. "I have important work I must be about. You can have your…" He gesticulated a hand in their direction."…your lovers' quarrel later." He finished with a deep frown, shaking his head at them.

"Walter…" Olivia warned, hearing Peter groan his name at the same time. She refused to look at him though, or comment on that last bit, as it would only egg his father on. "Let's go."

.

After swiping the door open, Olivia led the Bishops down to the bowels of the building and into the lab. She tossed her coat on a countertop and set the file from Jacobson down on a table nearby, thinking that she might work out in the lab for once.

Peter and Walter had removed their coats, throwing them in a clump on the table next to hers. The younger Bishop was wearing one of his usual striped button-downs, tucked into his dark jeans, unlike the day before. Walter had on one of his usual plaid flannel shirts under the lab coat he'd just thrown on, also as usual. She wondered if they were running short on clothing, or if the two of them were really just that predictable. _They've been living out of a hotel room! How many pairs of clothes can they have?_ Olivia felt a bit guilty for a moment…but damn it, the Bureau would have found them better housing! Not that it mattered; Peter wasn't leaving because of his clothing anyway.

Olivia walked over to where the Bishops were standing near the cylinder, sitting upright in its stand on a lab table. There were several electrodes stuck to its shiny surface, with the red and black wires trailing from them which were plugged into a nearby piece of equipment she didn't recognize.

"So is there anything you can tell me about this yet, Walter?" she said, watching as began removing the electrodes from cylinder.

"Good luck with that." Peter muttered from the other side of the table, watching his father with his arms crossed.

Walter glanced at him, then looked at her. "I…I'm not quite ready to speculate." he said defensively. "I…I need to run a few more tests." He moved away from them, walking over to one of the cabinets and after rummaging in it for a moment, removed a device which reminded Olivia of a blender. "I want to get an exact measurement of the cylinder. You can help me with this, Peter."

"Sure, why not?" Peter said disdainfully, "It's not like I have anything else to do."

"Good, then bring the cylinder over here, son." Walter said, setting his gadget down in the center of a lab table.

Peter hesitated, eyeing the cylinder as if the thought of touching the bare metal made him uneasy. She raised an eyebrow at his reluctance; surely he wasn't scared to touch it, was he? He glanced at her then down at the cylinder, before gritting his teeth and grabbing the cylinder in a bear hug, lifting it with a grunt. He carried it over to Walter, who was busy setting up whatever contraptions he needed for his tests.

Olivia grinned behind her hand at his obvious behavior. _Men._ She shook her head, and left them to their tests, moving back to the table where she'd left the case file from Henry Jacobson.

Pulling out a stool, she sat down and opened up the case file from the first cylinder, spreading its contents out before her on the table. She started with the witness statements taken from Sgt. Stuart Malick, the marine who had found the first cylinder. His account of the event was mostly the same as what her old mentor had already told her, though it was much more detailed, with lots of talk about sensor readings and something referred to as an EMI. He described finding the cylinder sitting upright right on grass, just inside one of the perimeter fences.

Looking over her shoulder at the Bishops, she saw Walter fitting a metal loop over the cylinders tip, which was attached to a vertical rod on a stand. Peter was watching his father impassively with his hands deep in his pockets.

"Hey," Olivia called over to them, "Have either of you ever heard of something called EMI?"

"Electromagnetic Interference." Peter replied, glancing over her with a curious look.

"What is that, exactly?"

Peter shrugged, and twirled a hand out in front of him as he replied. "Well…it's basically…a disturbance caused by electromagnetic induction or radiation that causes uh…" He stopped with a grin, seeing what had to be a blank look on her face. "Suffice to say, it messes up electronics."

"Very good, son." Walter murmured approvingly.

Peter rolled his eyes, but kept his attention on her. "Why?"

"Well, I'm reading an account from the marine who found the first cylinder, back in 1987." she said, holding up the witness statement. "He claimed that on the night that it appeared, the perimeter sensors on the base went haywire, just before the cylinder was found. There was speculation that it was caused by some kind of EMI."

Walter stroked his chin thoughtfully. "That's curious, very curious indeed." he said, narrowing his eyes at cylinder in front of him. "Typically military hardware would have been hardened against such interference. During the Cold War, when it was thought those pinko bastards were about to rain down nuclear fire on us, the electromagnetic pulse of a high altitude detonation in the upper atmosphere was a great source of concern, as you can well imagine."

"That's right." Peter agreed with a nod. "Then how could the sensors have been disrupted?"

Walter frowned, "I have no idea." he said indifferently, then stopped, raising a finger as if he'd been struck by a thought. "The cylinder is obviously not emitting any electromagnetic interference at this moment, as your mobile telephone and the other electronics in the lab are still functioning." He pointed to her cell phone lying on the table next to her. "I postulate then that it wasn't electromagnetic interference at all which caused the sensor disruption."

"Then what was it?" Olivia said in a rush. It was about time the old scientist finally shared his thoughts on the object.

"It was the mechanism by which the cylinder arrived," Walter said, "which caused the interference, and not the cylinder itself." He looked back and forth at Peter and herself, like an instructor waiting for questions from his students.

"Okay…" Peter said. "But that still doesn't tell us what this thing is, Walter."

Walter looked away from them and back to the cylinder, "No…it does not." he admitted, picking up a small handheld device off the table in front of him. He held the device up close to the objects surface, pressing a button on the side. A red point of light scattered on the metallic surface where it struck, as Walter ran it the length of the cylinder, studiously ignoring them both.

Peter looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head. Olivia turned back to her file folder, feeling the same frustration. She'd thought they'd been getting somewhere. Broyles was going to want an update soon, and so far, they had nothing. Nothing worth mentioning at least.

Olivia picked up the black and white photographs and flipped through them, looking for any details that might stand out. After glancing at the photo of the Master Sergeant Stuart Malick, she put it aside and focused on the other two. One of which was the close-up of the cylinder, sitting upright in the grass of the military base. There was nothing new to learn from it either.

"The precision with which this object was constructed is inspiring." Walter said. "Right down to the molecular bonds."

"I sure hope that a gigantic, metallic suppository is not the pinnacle of human achievement." Peter quipped dryly in response. "What is it?" he went on, his tone turning exasperated. "Let me ask you a question. If I tried reverse psychology, like, if I just said to you right now, 'Walter…don't tell me what that is,' would that work?"

Olivia fought off a grin as she flipped to the next picture, listening to the father and son's banter going on behind her.

The next photo was a picture of the rubble left behind from the cylinders departure, when it had exploded downward, as Henry Jacobson had said. There were two military men, high ranking judging by their stripes and insignia, standing in full regalia amidst the crumbled masonry of a building.

"Many years ago, I worked on _Project Thor_." Walter said. "The Department of Defense wanted a subterranean torpedo, a missile which could, in theory, be shot from anywhere in the world through the earth's core and hit its target on the other side."

Olivia turned her head in time to catch Peter's disgruntled expression at his father's sudden outpouring of information. She could almost feel the irritation flowing off him in waves. Whether Walter was just continuing his initial thought, or Peter's reverse psychology had indeed worked, was up for debate. It was difficult to determine his father's motives for doing anything most of the time. She turned her attention back to the photos.

"I know for a fact, that that is ridiculous." Peter retorted.

Behind the military men was a block wall, undamaged by the explosion. There was a line of black perimeter fencing extending from the corner of the wall and running parallel to a street on the other side. Olivia was about to flip to the next picture, when she realized there was someone else in the picture. A person she hadn't noticed before.

"Open your mind, son." Walter replied to Peter behind her. "Or someone may open it for you."

"Even that, doesn't make any sense, Walter." Peter said.

Olivia reached for her coat, pulled her glasses out of the inside pocket, and slipped them on. She leaned in close to the picture, staring at it intently. There was a man on the outside side of the fence, near the corner of the building, staring in at the military men. He was bald, and wearing a dark suit. He looked…familiar somehow, like she'd seen him before, and recently. She focused on what she could see of his face. He looked strange, and then she realized he had no eyebrows. She had seen him before. Where had it been?

"The cylinder could be any number of things," Walter was saying, his voice barely registering with her. "None of which I am prepared to discuss."

Where had she seen him?

"Great." Peter muttered from somewhere behind her. "I'm so glad I stuck around for this."

Had it been in a…hallway? An image of dark suited bald man, standing with his back to a clean, white wall came to her. She'd walked right past him. It had been at a crime scene. Her thoughts raced as the pieces of fell into place. She'd seen him at a crime scene, in a hallway with clean, white walls. Like a hospital. The old man-baby.

"I don't believe it!" she said, spinning away from the table and moving to one of workstations nearby.

"What is it?" Peter said, looking up from his observation of Walter.

"Look." she said, gesturing at the photo. "It's one of the photos from Jacobson's file."

Peter hurried over to her. He glanced at her glasses curiously, and then down at the photograph. Olivia didn't think she had worn her glasses in front of him before.

"Him." she said, pointing a finger at the man at the fence. "Remember? The bald guy."

Peter picked up the photo, staring at it intently. He shook his head. "No. I don't remember him." he said, putting the picture down. "Who is he?"

"That's the point." Olivia said impishly. She felt giddy, almost euphoric. This was something she could take to Broyles.

Peter look at her sideways, eyes narrowed. "Olivia, you're starting to sound a lot like Walter." he said concernedly.

"There are many things I'm not good at," she explained unselfconsciously, logging into the FBI database through the workstation. "Too many, but one thing I can do, that I've always been able to do, that game, Concentration. Memory. Connecting things, putting them together." She navigated the directories to the old man-baby case and then quickly through the crime scene photos. And then she saw it, saw him. "See?" she said, bringing up the image full-screen and pointing him out. It was the bald man all right, standing with his back against a white wall.

Peter bent over the table, looking between the photo and the screen.

"That's him." she said, trying not to smile too broadly.

"No way." Peter said after a more glances back and forth. "How did you remember that?"

Olivia shrugged, "I dunno, it's just something I can do." she said. "I need to go update Broyles. Can you let me know if your father ever decides to tell us anything?"

"Will do, boss." Peter said, flashing her a grin, which slid away after a moment of awkward silence when their eyes met. He looked away first, his gaze falling to the floor between them.

_Not for much longer_, Olivia thought sadly, collecting her coat and the Jacobson file off the countertop.

.

Broyles was in his office when she arrived at the Federal Building, bent over his desk, pen in hand. Olivia had seen him through the large window into his office from the open office floor below as she rushed passed her startled coworkers on the way in.

She knocked on his door twice, then opened the door and slipped inside. Broyles looked up at her entrance, a look of irritation crossing his face before it disappeared and his customary stone-faced look asserted itself.

"Sir, I may have found something." she said, moving to the front of his desk at his raised eyebrows.

Olivia placed the photo from Jacobson's file down in front of him.

"This photograph is from the crime scene at Quantico, in 1987." she said, pointing out the bald man. "Take a look at this guy. He was there." She placed the photo from the old man-baby case file next to it on his desk. "Now look at this. Less than two weeks ago at the hospital in Quincy. It's the same guy. He looks the same…and he was there with us."

Broyles looked down at the photos, his posture tense. After a moment he looked up at her slowly, his face unreadable as he scrutinized her face. He still hadn't spoken since she'd entered his office.

"What?" Olivia said. The constant having to pry information out of him was getting old very quickly.

"Come with me." Broyles said cryptically, getting to his feet.

She followed him out of his office and down the corridor outside his office to the elevator lobby. He led her to the elevator which gave access to the upper floors of Federal Building, floors which she didn't have clearance to be on. Using his access card, he swiped the elevator doors open.

"Where are we going?" she asked, following him in.

"You wanted clearance, Dunham." he replied, pushing one of several unlabeled buttons on the control panel. "This is it."

The stainless steel doors slid shut, and she felt the telltale dip in her stomach as the elevator began to rise. A few moment later, there was ding and the doors slid open again, and she followed her superior down another corridor, much less crowded than those on the floor below. In fact, it was downright vacant as she trailed after him down a side passage. The silence was eerie, as were the echoes of their combined footsteps as they traipsed toward a singular gray door at the end of the short hallway.

Broyles swiped the door and then pushed it open, motioning for her to follow him inside.

"Excuse us, please." he said to the occupants of the room, a man and a woman, sitting behind computer screens. They got up immediately at his words, and left the room without protest, closing the door behind them.

The room was rather small and unexciting, and not at all what she was expecting when Broyles had told that this was her clearance. There were two desks facing each other, each equipped with a workstation, and copy machine against the wall at the back of the room, as well as several file cabinets sitting next to it. It wasn't until she turned her attention to one of the many photographs taped in a grid pattern to the walls of the space did she realize what she was looking at.

"Oh my god." She said, rushing over the nearest group of photos.

It was him, the bald guy. He was in the pictures, every single one of them, his figure circled with red and black markers. The photos were of varying quality, some obviously stills from security and traffic cameras, while others looked like they had been taken professionally. There were close-ups, profile views, even some that she couldn't even be sure were him at all, they just appeared to be a man in a suit off in the distance. In many of them he was in the background of a crime scene, just like he'd been in the two photos she'd found him in.

"What is this?" she asked, looking over at Broyles, who had watched her examine the wall of pictures.

"It took us a year to spot him." Broyles said, "You did it in three weeks. I'm impressed."

"Who the hell is this guy?" she said, moving to the adjacent wall, where more photos were taped. She looked closely at one of them, taken through a chain-linked fence of the man. He was wearing a fedora hat of all things, and it was a clear view of his face. He didn't look…unkind, exactly, just sort of alien, like he didn't belong there. Maybe it was the pale skin and no eyebrows. Was he some kind of hairless albino?

"That is one excellent question."

"You mean you don't know?" she said, shocked at this bit of information.

"No." he said, shaking his bald head.

"And you've run him through every database?" Olivia said, moving back to the original wall group of pictures. There were just so many of them. How could there be so many?

"Of course." Broyles replied, running his eyes over them as well.

"And there's nothing on him?" she said, "Nothing at all?"

He shook his head. "There's been no positive ID. We've recorded him at over three dozen scenes, all of which relate to _The Pattern_."

"How could that be?" she said, spinning away from the wall, hands on her hips. "Why is he here? What is he doing?"

"What it looks like he's doing." Broyles said. "He's watching, observing. Which is why we refer to him as _The Observer_. But what he wants and why he's there, we don't know. No one's ever spoken to him."

Olivia turned back to the pictures, looking at each of them in turn. This was simply unbelievable. It was like something out of a movie. A mysterious man shows up just in time to watch some horrific occurrence take place, and then disappears again until the next disaster. Had he been on the tarmac at Logan, watching them as they boarded Flight 627? Or with them in the Callahan Tunnel at the scene of the bus attack?

"Was he was there the other day?" she asked, looking back at Broyles. "In New York at the construction site?"

Agent Broyles nodded as his phone rang. Answering it, he pointed out a picture on the wall that looked like it had fresh tape holding it up. "This is Broyles."

Olivia examined the newest photo, seeing that the timestamp on it matched the date of the crane collapse. It was from a security camera, and it showed The Observer coming out of a coffee shop, and from the running people also in view, it appeared to have been taken near the time of the collapse. He was wearing a fedora and sunglasses, and holding a briefcase. The name on the awning above the entrance was visible, _East River Coffee Shop. _She made a mental note of the name; someone in that restaurant had undoubtedly seen or spoken to him. She planned on paying them a visit, and soon.

"When did it happen?" Broyles tense voice banished her train of thought. "Are there any survivors?"

Olivia spun back to him, eyes wide. What had happened? She thought of what Jacobson had told her about the cylinder, and how it had exploded downward, severely damaging a building in the process. He'd warned her to stay away from it. What if that had happened at the lab? The thought made her blood run cold. Broyles ended his call a moment later, turning back to her, his face as grim as she'd ever seen it.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm, but the look on his face wasn't reassuring her at all.

"There's been an attack." he said, opening the door out of the room.

"What? An attack?" Olivia said, not really comprehending what he was saying. All she could think about was that it had nothing to do with the lab, as relief flowed through her, making her feel light-headed. She followed him out into the hallway, her legs keeping up with his longer strides involuntarily.

"At the warehouse." he said, looking back at her over his shoulder as they hurried back to elevator. "Where we took the cylinder. Last night. Everyone we left there is dead."

"Oh my god." Olivia gasped. Everyone was dead? How was that possible? "What about the soldiers?" There had been at least a full squad there.

Broyles shook his head. "They pulled out when we moved the cylinder to the lab." he said, turning the corner back to the main corridor.

The elevators were at the opposite end. They rushed toward them, arriving at the other end almost at a run. He swiped the elevator doors card reader. They opened immediately, and the two of them entered, with Broyles jabbing his finger into the appropriate button as soon as he was inside the car.

As the doors closed, she the realization struck that whoever had attacked the warehouse had undoubtedly wanted the cylinder. Which hadn't been there, which meant they were still looking for it. They could be at the lab at that moment. She pulled out her cell phone, only to find that there was no signal inside the elevator car.

"Shit!" she said absently. Why was the elevator taking so long? It had seemed like she'd only been on it mere seconds on the way up.

Broyles glanced over at her. "I'm sure they're fine." he said, observing her impatience. "No one at the warehouse knew exactly where we were taking the cylinder."

"I'm sure no one was supposed to know it was at the warehouse, either." she responded, wanting to pace, but finding no room in the cramped car. "What if it can be tracked somehow? Someone out there knows enough about it to kill for it."

Her superior's face tightened, but he had no reply. The doors opened, finally, and they hurried out.

"Call the lab." Broyles said, "Tell them we're sending a team to retrieve the cylinder."

Olivia nodded, trying her phone again.

* * *

**Peter** stuck the electrode on the outside of the cylinder, applying pressure to hold it in place as the adhesive took hold. It was the last of them from the small pile that he had. Astrid was finishing up her pile of the other side of the table. His father stood nearby, watching them both, wringing his hands together continuously.

"Explain to me again, Walter," he said testily. "Why you removed all these electrodes, only to have us put them all back on?"

"Yes, please do." Astrid said, giving Walter a decidedly grumpy look.

Walter at least had the decency to look half-way embarrassed as he looked between them. "That was yesterday...before I...I wasn't ready." he stammered, staring at the cylinder anxiously. "But now I am ready, so let's get to it, shall we!" He pumped his fists like he was a quarterback breaking up the huddle. He stepped away from them, turning his back to them as he dug around his in cabinet full of pharmaceuticals.

"Okay..." Peter said, exchanging a confused glance with Astrid.

She had arrived an hour or so after Olivia left, surprised to see them there already. Peter had been vague in his responses to her queries about his sudden decision to show up for work on time for once. He thought about telling her he'd told Olivia he was leaving, but after deciding that she would likely give him hell for it, while at the same time try and convince him to stay, he thought better of it. She could be persuasive also, not quite like Olivia, but she could definitely hold her own. It would be easier to just make a clean break.

Walter turned back to them, apparently ready now to start his experiment. "Okay." he said, rubbing his palms together. "Turn it on!"

Peter grabbed a thick cable with a wire harness on one end, which all the electrodes were plugged into, and a male RCA jack on the other. He carried the jack end over to an old amplifier that his father had dug up in the basement storage. It looked like it was vintage 1978, with its dull aluminum surface and the large gray knobs. He plugged the RCA into one of the auxiliary inputs, and twisted the volume knob.

The high pitched tone which issued forth from the speaker the amp was sitting atop, caught him off guard. It was right below the threshold which would have had him grabbing at his ears, instead it merely caused a wince, and set his teeth on edge.

"What is that?" Peter called back to his father, who was watching the readout on one of his machines.

"It's called sound." Walter said, rather rudely in Peter's opinion.

"I know that it's sound, Walter." Peter said, crossing the distance back to his father. "What's the point of this?" He had to raise his voice over the noise, which was quickly becoming an annoyance.

The lab phone began to ring, barely audible above the tone the cylinder was giving off. Astrid moved to answer it.

"I need to compare the numbers." Walter replied, not taking his eyes from the readout. "They should confirm my suspicions."

"Compare them to what?" Peter said. "Suspicions of what?" This was getting ridiculous, his father obviously had a clear idea what this fucking this was, and he was going to spill it now.

"I'll explain later." Walter said, glancing at him furtively.

"No, you'll explain right now! " he growled, returning to the amp and shutting it down. He turned back to Walter, jabbing his finger at the gray cylinder. "I want to know what the hell this tin can is!"

"Peter!"

Peter and his father looked over at Astrid, who was holding the corded phone in one hand.

"It's Olivia." she said, shaking the phone in his direction. She looked wide-eyed and nervous.

Peter glanced back at his father, seeing the relief on his face before walking over to Astrid, taking the phone from her and holding it up to his ear.

"Hello?" he said, keeping his eyes on his father.

"Peter!" Olivia said, her voice sounding odd. He thought he detected a hint of... was that relief in her voice?

"There's been an attack!" she went on. "The team at the warehouse is dead!"

"What!" he gasped. "Who did it?"

"We don't know." Olivia said. "But we're moving that thing to a secure facility. I'm on my way there now."

"Got it." Peter said, and hung the phone up. They were dead? What about the fucking soldiers? They had been armed to the teeth. Surely someone would have heard a pitched battle taking place in the middle of Boston, and reported it to the cops or the media, yet he'd heard nothing.

He crossed back over to Walter and Astrid who were staring at him expectantly next to the cylinder. "Walter, whatever the hell that thing is, you should have never brought it here."

"Why do you say this?" Walter asked quickly, his eyelids narrowing to a slit. "Has someone come for it?"

"Now why would you ask that?"

"Have they?" Walter said, raising his voice.

"Yes they have."

"Then we need to keep this safe." Walter said slowly, twirling his fingers between them. "We need something...something very important."

"What?" Peter said, leaning closer.

"Aluminum foil."

"Aluminum foil?" Peter repeated, bending away from his father with a grimace. "Why?"

"Trust me." Walter implored.

"Umm...No thanks." he replied shaking his head.

"Damn it!" Walter roared. "Must you always be such a smartass? I need the aluminum foil right now to shield the frequencies of the cylinder. Your life depends on it. All our lives depend on it. Go now!"

Peter was taken aback at his father's sudden clarity. It was the most sane he'd been since their talk the day Olivia had recruited them into consulting for the FBI. And even then, Walter hadn't been so...so much like old Walter, from before.

"I'm gonna get you your aluminum foil." Peter said in a low voice, leaning close to his father over the table separating them. "And when I get back, you're gonna tell me what the hell it is you think that thing does." He pushed off the table, and spun around, and hurried towards the stairs near the lab exit, grabbing his coat as he passed it by.

"While you're out, son," Walter called after him, his voice still tense. "If you see a chance to get me a root beer float, that would be wonderful."

Peter looked back at him, pausing at the top of the steps. "I'll see what I can do, Walter." he said, then pulled the lab door open and walked out, running down the hallway and up the stairwell out of the basement. He would do no such thing, of course. There was a convenient store not far from campus, and he doubted they carried root beer floats.

* * *

**Walter** watched the doors and waited until the sound of Peter's footsteps could no longer be heard, as his fingers removed the electrodes from the cylinder of their own accord. He was surprised Peter had fallen for his ruse so easily, he was usually such a clever boy. His gaze returned to cylinder on the table in front of him. The moment had arrived. He must do as he must, as not doing as the vibrations had instructed was simply unthinkable. He hoped they could still be friends afterward, he liked having her around the lab. She had a pretty laugh, it was almost like music.

"Would you be a lamb, and get me that syringe, dear?" he said, nodding his head toward the countertop where he'd placed it earlier, in precisely the correct position and orientation. She would do as he asked.

"Sure."

Walter's eyes followed her for a moment as she moved away from him, before he looked down at the cylinder, and his shaking hand. It had to be done.

"Here you go." the young woman said, handing him the syringe.

"Thank you." he replied, stepping back, and allowing her to take his place and resume her previous endeavor of peeling the stubborn electrodes from the surface of the iridium cylinder.

Walter removed the cap and held up the syringe, tapping out the air bubbles. Turning back to her, he focused on her finely shaped carotid artery. She really was a lovely young woman. _Forgive me, Peter. __Forgive me, son._

Aspirin gasped as he looped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close to him, and then plunged the syringe into her neck. There was a slight resistance as needle slid through the thick artery wall, but then it passed and he depressed the plunger. She let out a long sigh, and then grew heavy in his arms as his custom blend of sodium thiopental took effect. He calculated that she would be out no more than twenty minutes, the dosage based on careful calculation of her weight, which he estimated to be no more than one-hundred-twenty pounds, probably less. She was a slight thing, really.

His thoughts were pleasantly quiet as he gently lowered her to the floor, letting her fall back against the cabinetry. Reaching for the gauze and tape he'd already prepared, he quickly applied them, staunching the small amount of blood which flowed when he had removed the syringe. With that task done, his eyes returned to the cylinder, and the need to take it, to hide it, returned, the compulsion overpowering all other considerations.

Rising from his knees, his eyes flew around the lab, looking for the object which he would need to transport the cylinder. He began throwing open cabinets at random, moving at an ever increasing rate in a repeating pattern. Where was it? Where was it? Where was it? He vaguely recognized that he was exhibiting symptoms of compulsive repetition, but was powerless to break free of it. He needed Peter. Peter could help him.

_Slow down, Walter. _He froze, upon hearing Belly's gravelly voice in one ear. _There's no rush._

_That's easy for you to say, William. _He heard the angry voice of Walter that was, in his other ear. _From your ivory tower built upon the shoulders of my work._

The two voices began to argue in earnest, and he covered his ears, letting out a moan. Time was flying by at the speed of light. Peter would be back. He couldn't think, the voices were too loud. They were always too loud. Sometimes he missed them when they were absent.

_The object you require, is precisely where you left it, seventeen years ago_, a third voice said. It was a calm, almost emotionless voice, and it quieted the other two instantly. _The basement storage, sitting on the bottom shelf, near the back wall._

"Of course!" Walter said out loud, pumping his fist. He rushed down into the basement storage room, around the tables in the center of the space, and to the row of shelving along the back wall. And there it was. With a cry, he lunged for it, grabbing the backpack up with one hand and spinning back toward one of the tables in the center of the room.

He set the backpack upright, unzipped the main storage compartment and peeked inside. It was empty. He was about to zip it closed, when he saw what looked like a plastic bag, stuck in one corner. He grabbed it and held it up to one of the overhead lights. Inside, were many small seeds, tan in color.

_You'll need those, Walter!_ Belly said with a laugh. _Indeed you will,_ Walter that was agreed, for once not angry.

Walter looked lovingly at them for a moment, then tossed the bag into his box of old vinyl albums he'd only recently found again. The bag slid down the face on the center of the his beloved Violet Sedan Chair album, and came to a rest at the bottom. The moments were ticking away. He really needed to locate his turntable. Then Roscoe's sweet sounds could play once again...

_Keep climbing, higher and higher  
__Keep climbing, higher and higher__  
_

Grabbing the backpack up off the table, he climbed up the steps and hurried over to the cylinder. The backpack was of the larger variety, more suitable for camping trips than for carrying books, and the cylinder fit inside its main compartment with ease. He zipped it shut and slung the backpack over his shoulders, slipping his arms through the straps and settling it into place.

_Keep climbing, higher and higher  
__Keep climbing, higher and higher__  
_

Once Walter was outside, he hurried toward the nearest bus stop, which if his admittedly poor memory was correct, was to the west upon leaving the Kresge Building. After a short walk he came to a bench, enclosed in a glass booth. He sat down, waiting for the bus to appear, setting the backpack on the bench beside him.

_Keep climbing, higher and higher  
__Keep climbing, higher and higher__  
_

The thought suddenly struck him that he had no money! How was he was going to pay for the bus? Peter was the one with the money. _Damn it, you old fool._ He picked up the backpack, heaving it over his shoulder again. Maybe he could find some money back in the lab...maybe he still had time. He spun on his heels, turning to leave the booth, and knocked over a plastic water bottle that someone had left on the bench. The bottle fell on the bricked surface of the bus stop, and rolled toward the wall of the glass enclosure. His eyes tracked its progress as it came to a stop against the aluminum base.

_I looked inside in search of me__  
__and found a forest in a tree__  
__they tried their best to cut me down__  
__and sell my branches by the pound_

Walter was taking a step to go, when his recall kicked in, informing him that he'd missed something. He looked down again, and saw a rolled up wad of money sitting on the ledge of the base next to the plastic bottle. Stooping down on one knee, he grabbed the money greedily, and pushed himself upright with one hand on the bench next to him. He looked up and down the street, searching for anyone who might have left it behind. There was no one. No accusing fingers or yells in his direction. _Unlike that day in the courtroom._ He closed his eyes, trying to will the images and shouts away from him.

That was then. This is now. He repeated the phrase, trying to force his neurons back in their proper pathways.

_you're not alone__  
__you're not the only one__  
__to float upon the ocean as the moon becomes the sun_

He opened his eyes, at once calmer than he had been before. Feeling the tight wad of money, still gripped in his hand, he unrolled it. The bills were fresh, like they'd just came straight from the U.S. Mint. Licking a thumb, he counted them quickly, with the total coming to one hundred dollars. Five twenty-dollar bills.

_Keep climbing higher and higher__  
__Keep climbing higher and higher__  
__Keep climbing higher and higher__  
__Keep climbing higher and higher__  
__Keep climbing higher and higher__  
__Keep climbing higher and higher_

Walter beamed, feeling like he'd won the lottery. One hundred dollars was enough to take him anywhere needed to go! Anywhere! Why he could even take a cab! He looked down the street, and blinked, as he saw that yellow taxi headed straight for him.

_When my blood begins to freeze__  
__at ninety-eight point six degrees__  
__I throw away the master plan__  
__to run much faster than I can_

Walter stepped toward the curb, hand raised. _It's your lucky day, Walter!_ Belly exclaimed.

_You don't need me__  
__you don't need anyone__  
__to feed on your emotions as the moon becomes the sun_

The cab swerved toward him, coming to a stop inches from the edge of the sidewalk. He moved forward, opening the rear door and slid into the back seat, pulling the backpack in after him.

"Where to buddy?" the driver asked, twisting his head to his right, over his shoulder.

"I would like transportation to Arbor Lincoln Cemetery." Walter said, nodding his head, and hugging the backpack to his chest.

"Lincoln Cemetery?" he said, scrunching his eyes and giving him a frown. "The one off of Route 2?"

"Yes. The very one." Walter replied. "I...I have family I must visit there."

"Man, I don't give a shit why you need to go there." the driver said, and held up his hand, rubbing his thumb and index fingers together. "All I care about is whether you got the money to get there. That ain't a cheap fare. I gotta get on the turnpike."

Walter, frowning at the man's rudeness, held up his wad of money. "I have one hundred dollars." he said. "Will that be sufficient, young man?"

The driver turned back towards the front, and pulled the vehicle away from the curb. "Oh yeah." he said with a mad cackle, which reminded Walter of a friend of his in St. Claire's. "That will definitely be sufficient."

_Keep climbing higher and higher__  
__Keep climbing higher and higher__  
__and higher and higher__  
__and higher and higher__  
__and higher and higher__  
__and higher and higher__  
__and higher and higher_

Walter sighed, shutting his eyes and letting himself relax. He had done it. He was on his way.

.

The ride to the cemetery was lengthy, allowing Walter's thoughts to zigzag as they tended to do when he had nothing to occupy is ever curious mind. They shifted from thoughts of his son's childhood, to Elizabeth and her unending sadness that he had never been able to fix, not even Peter presence had been able to. He wished he could tell them about his task, but he could never explain it, and they would never believe it if he did. They would likely think him insane.

The thought elicited a giggle, drawing the attention of driver in the rearview mirror. He was insane, at least that was what he had been told, by many doctors. Though in his opinion, most of them had been quacks, with Sumner the worst of the lot. How the man had come to be in charge of an institution the size of St. Claire's, with his rudimentary knowledge of pharmacology, was simply a disgrace, an insult to anyone with a Doctor in front of their name. The cylinder had to be kept safe, just for a while longer, until the crisis was past. He wasn't sure exactly how he knew this to be true, it just was. The sun rose in the east, the atomic weight of hydrogen was 1.00794, and the cylinder had to be protected, or all was for nothing.

Had he done this before? Had he thought that thought before? He sat up straight in the back seat, taking in his surroundings. _Ahh. The cab. _He relaxed back in the seat, and stared out the window, watching the evergreens pass by in a continuous streak of green, as he let his eyes relax and un-focus.

_It's all a big loop, Walter!_ Belly said to him, drawling his name like he always used to. Or is that what Belly had said before, at the lake in Harvard Yard? They had been tripping! Blue Eskimo, wasn't it? Each blotter had had a little figure with a furry hood stamped in blue. Walter giggled again. They'd spent hours inspecting the little man under a microscope back in the lab.

He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and listened to the rhythm of the road, thinking back, thinking of that night, and the reflection of the stars on the smooth surface of the lake.

_"Tell me you don't believe that rubbish, William." He said, inhaling, then holding his breath. After a moment, he let it out in a smooth stream. He passed the crinkled paper across to his partner, watching the smoke curl lazily in the slight breeze as they made the exchange. "The Big Crunch? The idea is simply preposterous!"_

_"Walter," Belly drawled, taking a deep hit, "There are significant reasons to believe that we may indeed be living in a cyclical system, in which life is only possible in the expansion phase, when time's arrow points forward." His voice grew hoarse near the end of his soliloquy as ran out of breath, and began to cough, deep hacking, smoke-filled gasps as he leaned forward on the bench they were seated on, trying to recover._

_Walter shook his head, disappointed in his friend's continued defense of that tired model. The universe was on course for the great heat death in trillions of years, and then all would be dark, and silent, and still, forever without end. Time itself would have no meaning any longer. He stared out over the lake, envisioning each of the stars winking out, one by one, until only one remained. It would be the last star. It would be the END. A true ending._

"_Belly," he said, when his friend had recovered, "If that were the case, then we would have already had this conversation, as you well know. I refuse to believe we're stuck in some...loop of infinity, repeating ourselves endlessly. It's much too inelegant an ending to something as beautiful as existence."_

"_It's a loop!" William hooted, "It's all a big loop, Walter!" He laughed, smacking his knees with both hands._

_Walter joined in, watching the tracers following Belly's hands as he..._

He couldn't remember anymore. The memory just stopped, a clean break, like it had been cut in two, and the other half was just...gone. Walter had noticed it happening more since his release from St. Claire's, and their mind numbing drug cocktails. It was a worrying development.

"Hey pal! Hey!"

Walter opened his eyes, staring about wildly. Where was he? "Who are you?" he asked the strange man staring at him over his shoulder. "Why am I in this car? Is this an abduction? I won't tell you my secrets!"

"What? Abduction? Secrets?" the man said, "Man, you asked me to drive you here!"

"Where's here?" Walter said, looking at the man askance. The man was tricky. He could tell.

"Lincoln Cemetery. Ringin' any bells in there, old man?"

Lincoln Cemetery? Why would he come here? What is it that time of year already? "Did I come alone? Peter doesn't ever let me out alone, you see."

"Do you see anybody else in this car with you?" the driver shook his head, and muttered something under his breath. "It was just you, and that backpack. What's in there anyway? You've been hugging it like it was your long lost puppy."

Backpack? The backpack! The cylinder! It came flooding back. He was going to hide the cylinder in the cemetery.

"Oh yes!" Walter said, "I had forgotten. It happens when you get old, you know." He grinned, and looked down at the backpack, lying across his lap. The cylinder was still inside. "How much is the charge for your services, young man?" he pulled the roll of money out of his coat pocket, prepared to hand over what was required.

The other man glanced at the money, wetting his lips. The man appeared to be thirsty. Walter had no water for him. He could use a little himself though, as he was feeling rather parched at the moment.

"Say, do you...uh...want me to stick around?" he said. "Or do you have a ride back? There's a small additional fee...if you want me to wait, that is."

Walter hadn't considered the ride back. Yes, he would probably need one, and he had one hundred dollars, after all. "Yes, please do stick around." he said with a smile, and reached over the seat back. "I'm Dr. Walter Bishop."

The driver shook his hand, cocking an eyebrow. "Okay...I'm Tony." he said.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Anthony." Walter said, unlatching the door handle and pushing it open. "I shan't be long."

He slid out of the seat, pulling the backpack with him, and slung it over his shoulders as he started toward the entrance to the cemetery.

The weather was brisk, but tolerable with the thick jacket Peter had insisted he wear that morning. The cemetery was old, and heavily wooded, looking more like a forest than a place of internment these days. As he passed through the opening in the wooden fence which served as a main entrance of sorts, he heard the cawing of crow in the distance, followed by another much closer up in the branches ahead of him. He eyed the treetops warily as he passed below the spot.

Though he it had been almost twenty years since he'd been there last, he found that he no difficulty at all navigating the rows of moss-covered tombstones. His legs led him directly to grave he'd been looking for as if the muscle memory of his last visit still remained.

Walter chuckled at the idea, approaching the grave from the back side. Dragging his fingers over the rough stone, he stepped around to the front, reading the name and dates on the headstone. This was the right place.

Letting the backpack slide off his shoulders, he set it down on the sparse grass in front of the tombstone, then crouched and opened the main compartment. He watched the blue glow illuminating the space for a moment, then almost lifted it out, when it occurred to him that he could just leave it in there. There was no reason not to. With that decided, the only thing left was to bury it. He stared at hard packed dirt, realizing that he'd forgotten something else.

Cursing, he stood and looked around for something, anything that he could use to dig with. Maybe a stick or... he glanced back down at the dirt. No, a stick would never do. It was old ground, that hadn't been disturbed in decades. Nothing less than a stout shovel would break through that compacted surface. _Damn it._ He spun around slowly, futilely hoping that maybe some careless grounds keeper had left one behind. There wasn't one of course, as he'd known there wouldn't be. No one had been buried there in years.

Turning back to grave, he nearly fainted at the sight of a shovel, propped upright against the tombstone. He stood stupefied, staring at the pristine looking shovel. It looked like it had just been purchased from the hardware store. There was even an orange sticker covering half of the shiny blade.

"Now you're just showing off." he muttered, grabbing the shovel and stabbing the tip into the ground off to one side from the headstone. It wouldn't do at all for the cylinder to be buried directly above his father's grave.

.

"Seventy-five dollars? That's outrageous!" Walter said, aghast. "What do you take me for? This may have been my first cab ride in seventeen years, my good man, but surely you can't expect me to-"

"Seventeen years? Where the hell have you been?" The cab driver said, his voice incredulous. "You got any idea how much gas cost these days? It's over four dollars a gallon, buddy! Now you either pay me, or you can wait here while I call the cops."

Walter swallowed, looking down at his wad of money. He wasn't going to have enough to get back, with his side trip to the diner, and his root beer float. Peter was going to be angry. He really wanted a root beer float.

Reluctantly, he placed four twenties in the driver's waiting hand. "Very well, but...I...I'll need my change." he said in a rush, thrusting his hand out over the seat back. "Four dollars and seventy-two cents."

The two of them had a short stare down, and then it was the other's man's turn to back down. Walter waited as the driver rummaged noisily through a bank pouch, and was soon gifted with a handful of coins, mostly quarters and dimes.

"There's your change, old man. Now get the hell out of my cab."

Walter pocketed the coins, then pushed open the car door and got out, leaving the cab behind, already a fading memory as he moved toward the entrance to the diner. He'd seen the sign for it out the taxi window, and just knew that they had to stop there. They could make him a root beer float.

He could already taste the sassafras, it was going to be divine. The sheer volume of different flavors present in a sip of root beer was enough to write a thesis on, and that was without the vanilla ice cream, which had its own smörgåsbord of tastes. When served together with the root beer, the combination was nothing short of mind-blowing.

The waitress, a portly woman wearing a yellow uniform dress with a white belt, seated him at booth with a window looking out on the I-95 interchange, and took his order without question or comment. As he waited for her to return with his prize, he sorted the change the cab driver had given him into stacks by denomination, and then by year, with the oldest being at the top of each stack.

The waitress returned just as he finished his sorting, carrying a large mug, with the frothy root beer nearly overflowing. There was a large scoop of vanilla ice cream floating on the surface, with a straw and spoon stuck through the ice cream layer to assist in his consumption.

"Bless you." he said to the woman, giving her a broad smile as she set the mug on the table in front of him. The waitress moved on to the customer at table a behind him, leaving him to his decadent treat.

Walter hesitated briefly as he weighed his options. Should he start slowly with a small sip through the straw? Or should he go straight for the gold with the spoon? Perhaps a combination of both, spoon, then straw immediately after.

_Go for the gold, Walter!_ Belly crowed.

_No...no...No._ Walter that was answered. _Straw, then spoon! Alternate the pattern on every fifth cycle._

Walter made his choice. He grasped the mug in both hands, and leaned forward to take a sip through the straw, closing his eyes to allow for full sensory appreciation as the sweet beverage slid over the surface of his tongue, fully engaging all of the gustatory system's five families of taste receptors at once. The blend was nearly orgasmic.

"Ahhh..." he sighed, his lips curving into a smile.

When he opened his eyes, there was a man sitting across from him, his back perfectly straight. He was familiar. His bald head had an egg shape to it. The man placed his hat on the table to Walter's left. It was an old fedora. The man was wearing a dark suit and tie, with a white shirt. Walter observed the man had no eyebrows as he tilted his head, watching him with an emotionless fascination.

"You know," Walter said, leaning forward to take another sip. "I haven't had a root beer float in over seventeen years."

"And?" the bald man said, tilting his head further. "How is it?" His voice was as emotionless as his face, though there was an almost wistful hint of curiosity present.

Walter looked up from his root beer with a grin. "Heavenly." he replied, the taste still on his tongue. "And...yet earthly at the same time."

"Quite the connoisseur."

Walter stared down at mug, then slid it toward the other man. "Do you want some?"

"No, thank you." the bald man replied robotically. "I wouldn't taste much anyway."

Walter thought there might be a hint of sadness or regret in his admission. He bent down to take another sip.

"Seventeen years." the man continued. "That's a long time to go without something you love."

Walter looked up, feeling a sense of dread. "Where I've been, you lose track of time." he swallowed, then tried to put a smile on his face. "There's so much now to make up for."

"Thank you for hiding the Beacon." the man said. "I can't touch it myself. I know you have questions. Soon you will have answers."

The sense of dread intensified. "Of course." Walter gasped as a realization hit him. Flashes of memory were coming to him, of Peter, and ice. Freezing water, and the bald man. The ice had...the ice had broken! He had been there on that night! The night that...what? What had happened? The answer was just over the horizon, just out of his reach. If he focused it would come to him. The thought of doing so was terrifying, so he bent down, taking a large swallow, letting the sweet goodness soothe his fears away.

"The cycle must be broken, my old friend."

When Walter looked up from his mug, the man was gone. He had called him friend. It was nice to have a friend again.

.

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**So here's the third part of 1x04 and the first Walter POV. I hope it's okay, as I found him quite difficult to write. You never really know what he actually remembers in the beginning. Let me know what you think.**

**If you want to hear the song he was playing in his head, search youtube for Violet Sedan Chair, Keep Climbing.**


	31. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

**.**

**-Harvard, Kresge Building, Basement**

**Peter** threw open the door into the lab and rushed inside, letting the door swing shut behind him with a rattle from the frosted glass window, loose in its frame. The lab was silent as he hurried down the steps, looking around for Walter and Astrid, and not seeing the duo in the main lab space or through the slatted window blinds of Olivia's office.

"Hey!" he called out, holding up narrow box as he moved toward the lab tables in the center of the room. "I got the tin foil!" He set the narrow box down on the nearest table and continued farther into the lab. "Walter? Astri…" His voice went silent as his eyes fell on the stand the cylinder had sat on. It was empty. He moved closer, turning the corner of the cabinetry and gasped at the sight of Astrid slumped over in the aisle between two lab counters.

"Astrid!" he said, dropping down on his knees before her and lifting her upright. She was breathing, and appeared uninjured, other than a small bandage taped at her neck. Leaning her back against the cabinet face, he cupped her face in both hands, saying her name again. "Astrid! Are you okay?" He patted her cheek softly with one hand. "Astrid?"

Astrid's eyelids fluttered open, her dark eyes shifting in and of focus as she struggled to maintain consciousness. The tip of her tongue was just visible through her parted lips as her jaw hung slack.

"Astrid!" he said again, raising his voice. "Look at me!"

Her eyes blinked slowly, as awareness began to trickle back into them. "Peter?" she said in barely audible voice.

"Astrid, I need you to focus for a second." Peter said, still cupping her face. "Where is Walter?"

Astrid shook her head, trying to twist out of his grasp. Peter let go, but was ready to grab her if she started to topple over again. She put her hands to her temple, and let out a groan. "I don't know…he…I think he grabbed me!" She touched the bandage at her neck, "He drugged me!" she growled. "What the hell! I am so not going to bake him that pie!"

Peter shook his head ruefully. "He took the cylinder." He got to his feet, his eyes falling on the tin foil. _Goddamnit Walter! _And he'd fallen for it like a fucking rookie. Olivia was on her way, and he'd let Walter take the cylinder. "Fuck!" he roared, grabbing the box of tin foil and hurling it across the lab into one of the archway pillars. The box fell to the floor, crumpled on one end from the impact. Feeling a little better, he turned back to Astrid, bending down before her again. "Are you okay?" he asked, offering her his hand.

She nodded slowly, "I think so…" she said, accepting his help.

Peter hauled her to her feet, watching her closely as she leaned back against a countertop with a grimace. She appeared to be in no small amount of pain. His father had much to answer for.

Astrid let a groan, "Oww…my head!" she panted, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples again. "Why would your father take the cylinder?" she asked him after a moment, looking at him through her eyelashes.

Peter shrugged, letting his gaze linger on the vacant stand where the cylinder had been again. "I have no idea." he said, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "Clearly, he knows more about it than he was telling us." He felt the weight of his phone in his pocket, and pulled it out with a sigh. "I have to tell Olivia." he said reluctantly.

Astrid looked up. "It's not your fault, Peter."

"I don't see any other legal guardians for them to blame it on, do you?" he snapped. At her raised eyebrow, he stopped and took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. "I'm sorry, this is all my fault."

He dialed her phone, moving away from Astrid and into the office, swinging the door shut behind him, then dropped down on the chair at Olivia's desk, waiting for her to pick up.

"Dunham." Olivia's voice came over the line.

Peter swallowed, "Olivia...it's me. Peter."

"Yeah, I know." she said, and he could hear her smile through the phone. "I'm almost there. What's up?"

He licked his lips, not wanting to go on. He wasn't sure how to tell her, there was no way he wasn't coming out of this looking like an idiot. _Fucking tin foil!_

"What's wrong?" Olivia said, when he didn't reply. The smile was gone from her voice.

"Walter's gone…and…he took the cylinder."

"He what?" She said after a moment of thick silence. "Please tell me you're joking, Peter. That this is one of your stupid jokes!"

Peter frowned. Olivia thought his jokes were stupid? He pushed the thought aside, it was irrelevant at the moment.

"Believe me, I wish it was." he said, looking through the blinds out into the lab, where Astrid was cleaning up the mess left behind by Walter's experiments on the cylinder. He shook his head at the sight. "He drugged Astrid, who should be fine by the way, and then took the cylinder." Peter got up, and paced around the office, waiting for the accusation, but it didn't come.

"Shit! Broyles is gonna kill me!" There was a loud smack through the phone, as if she'd hit something in her car, probably the dashboard, judging by the sound of it. Then her voice was back in his ear, sounding very restrained. "I just pulled up at the faculty lot. I'll be there in five minutes." Olivia said, and ended the call.

Looking down at his phone, Peter decided that the issue of his leaving was probably moot at this point, regardless of what he'd told Olivia about staying until the case was closed. The likelihood of the FBI retaining the services of the Bishop family after this disaster, was probably somewhere between zero and none. He was going to have to find a job, preferably one on the up and up, as strangely enough, the thought of going back to his former life didn't sound quite as appealing as it should have. It seemed Olivia had left her stamp on him, somehow, which was something he could never have fathomed the day they met. She'd either ruined him, or made him a better man, depending upon what perspective he chose to look at it from. He wasn't sure which he preferred.

Scrolling through his contacts, he dialed the number for his old friend, Brian. Way back when, before his bar-tending and now bar-owning gigs, Brian had tried his hand at contracting for several years. He'd worked all up and down the eastern seaboard, and undoubtedly still kept in contact with some of his former employers. That was just his way, to never burn bridges, something which Peter himself had always subscribed to, except when absolutely necessary. His friend didn't answer, which he supposed was to be expected at this time of day, so he left a message, asking his friend to call him back as soon as possible.

Peter had just ended the call when the lab door swung open with a crash, drawing his gaze to the office window. Olivia hurried in, her black coat flying out behind her as she rushed to Astrid's side and put a hand on the junior agent's back, bending close to speak with her. Astrid nodded at whatever Olivia had asked her, then touched the bandage at her neck. They exchanged a few more words, and the younger agent waved a hand toward the office, as both women turned to look at him.

Olivia moved toward the office, her attention fixed on him through the window as she approached. From the way her full lips were pursed, and the tense set of her jaw line, he could see that she was not a happy agent, and was about to give him hell. She paused for a moment, tucking her loose bangs behind her ears, and then opened the door, her green eyes brimming with fury as she pinned him to the floor where he stood.

He eyed her warily, her silent approach as she moved closer reminding him of a lioness on the hunt. And he was definitely the prey. How she managed to seem the taller of the two of them, when he knew that he in fact towered over her, deserved consideration for being a fringe case in itself.

"What the hell happened here, Peter?" she said, stopping before him, well within what he'd established as her usual personal comfort zone. Her voice was ominous as she looked up at him expectantly.

Peter shook his head, looking away from her up at the ceiling. "Walter happened." he said, holding his hands up to forestall her as she opened her mouth to argue. "Let me explain!"

"Please do." she said, crossing her arms under her breasts.

"When you called to warn us about the attack," he said, turning away from her and the distracting things her crossed arms were doing to her blouse. "It...it was like he'd been expecting it." He paced a few steps away and then turned back to her. She had thankfully dropped her hands down to her hips.

"What do you mean he was expecting it?" Olivia said.

"He asked if someone had come for the cylinder…before I even mentioned there had been an attack."

Her eyes widened, and he nodded at her realization.

"He knows what it is." she said, her lips thinning with irritation. "What else did he say?"

"That we had to protect it, and something about all our lives depending on it."

"Then why would you leave the lab?" Olivia exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "I mean, I had _just_ told you that someone was looking for it, Peter."

"He uh…" Peter started, looking down at the pictures on her desk, refusing to meet her eyes. He wondered who the little girl was. "He…said he wanted me to get him some aluminum foil…that he needed it shield the cylinder." Saying it out loud made it clear just how ridiculous it was. He really was an idiot.

"With aluminum foil?" Olivia said, narrowing her eyes at him. After a moment her lips curved into a grin. "And you actually fell for that?" She shook her head, watching him with a hint of amusement. "I thought you were supposed to be a genius. At least that's what your file said." Her tone left little doubt as to what she thought of that.

"Hey, he was very convincing." Peter said defensively, feeling his face heat up. He waggled a finger at her. "If you'd have been here…you would have believed it, too."

"No way." Olivia scoffed, shaking her head. Turning to leave the office, she looked back over her shoulder at him. "Brolyes will be here soon. He's not happy." She gave him a regretful look. "Specifically with you…just a warning."

"Lucky me." he replied, and then called after her as she walked out into the lab. "Olivia, hey, I thought you said there was no file!"

.

Olivia had been right, Agent Broyles was not happy…he was livid. He and a whole slew of agents, including Charlie Francis, whom Peter hadn't seen in a while, arrived within minutes of Olivia and his conversation in the office. Charlie gave Peter a stern nod from across the lab in greeting, then resumed his phone call and began issuing orders to whoever was on the other end of the line. Most of the agents that had arrived with Broyles, and Olivia also, were on their phones, speaking urgently with some official or another from the sound of things.

The interrogation, at least that's what it felt like, started shortly after their arrival, with Broyles stomping toward him across the lab, his eyes bulging and his normally granite-like face stretched tight across his skull in his wrath. Peter's eyes kept going to the beads of sweat that were forming at some unknown location on top of his bald head, watching as they made wet paths down his dark skin, until he would wipe them away absently as he lectured Peter on the responsibilities expected of him as member of Fringe Division. They really were distracting. Olivia would occasionally pace into view, her head tilted, listening to whoever she was on the phone with, while shooting worried looks in his direction at the same time.

"Bishop, are you listening to me?" Agent Broyles was saying, leaning forward into his personal space. "That cylinder was the property of the U.S. Government!"

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you." Peter said, "What do you want from me?" He was beginning to regret his decision to help Olivia out on this last case. He didn't need this shit.

"I want you to tell me where your father went!" Broyles said angrily.

"C'mon," Peter said, crossing his arms, his fists clenched. "This is getting really annoying! I already told you! I don't know-"

"Please do not stand there and tell me that you have _no_ idea where your father-"

"You're assuming that I have any idea how that man's addled brain works!" He saw Olivia hang up her phone and approach them in his peripheral vision, looking concerned as their volumes began to rise.

"You gave us the impression that you could handle him!"

"Hey, let's get something straight." Peter retorted, stepping closer the Special Agent. "I didn't promise you anything. I warned you all that he was fucking crazy from the word '_go_'!"

Broyles bristled with indignation, his eyes growing wider, if that were possible, and he opened his mouth, no doubt to let loose, when Olivia's phone rang, deflecting their attention toward her momentarily. They both turned toward her.

"Olivia Dunham." she said, and listened intently. After a moment, she raised a palm in their direction, her posture tense. "Thank god! Where at?" She listened again, her shoulders relaxing noticeably. "We'll be right there." She ended the call, slipping her phone back into her pocket. She looked at them both. "Walter just got picked up. He was walking the median on I-95. He's on his way to Federal Building now."

Broyles gave him an aggravated look, then turned and walked toward the stairs up to the lab exit. Peter exchanged glances with Olivia, then followed her as she trail after the other agents as they left the building.

* * *

**Olivia **shut the engine off, but made no move to exit the vehicle. She waited for her passenger to take the initiative. He had been silent the entire drive from Harvard to the Federal Building, which must be some kind of record for him. She'd always had the sense that he hated silence and would sometimes chatter just to fill it. Not that she blamed him of course; the tongue lashing he'd received from Broyles would have had her in a rage as well.

Removing the keys from the ignition, she clenched them tightly as she observed his flat stare at the concrete wall directly in front of them through the windshield. He looked furious, as angry as she had ever seen him since she'd dragged his stubborn ass back from Iraq. In fact, Olivia didn't think he'd even been as angry then as he appeared to be at that moment. She did not envy Walter, when they saw him next.

"Peter?" she said hesitantly, keeping her voice soft. "I'm sure Broyles was just-"

His head swiveled toward her, his blue eyes locking on her face. "He's right. What am I even doing here? It's a good thing this ridiculous situation is coming to an end." He pushed open his door and got out, slamming the door closed behind him.

Sighing, Olivia followed suit, sliding out of her seat and hurrying after Peter as he stalked across the parking garage toward the entrance into the Federal Building. She was lucky he hadn't simply walked out on the spot back in the lab; she was sure he'd been about to when she'd joined the two of them before receiving the call about Walter.

Ahead of her, Peter reached the doors inside, but was forced to turn and wait for her as he didn't have a card to open the door. The garage entrance, unlike the street entrance was always locked. He let go of the handle and leaned against the concrete wall, his clenched jaw relaxing a bit as their eyes met as she approached him.

"What's the rush?" she said, pulling out her access card. "Do I smell bad or something?"

Peter snorted a chuckle as he stared down at his shoes, his shoulders rocking as the chuckle turned into a full blown laugh when he lifted his gaze to hers. The sound was contagious, and she soon found herself joining him. After their laughs had died down and they'd caught their breath, they stared at each other in silence for a moment, faint traces of laughter still in their smiles.

"Thanks." Peter said with a toothy grin. "I kinda needed that."

"Yeah, I figured." Olivia said, returning his smile. She licked her lips, feeling the need to make a confession. "Just for the record…If it had been me at the lab, I probably would have fallen for the aluminum foil, too."

Peter's eyebrows shot up at her admission, then lowered as his gaze narrowed on her. "I knew it!" he said, giving her a nudge on the shoulder, as his wide smile returned.

Their eyes met again and she recognized another of those moments coming, the ones they seemed to have so often, when words seemed to be unnecessary between them. The tension increased as neither of them was able to look away. _Why won't you tell me why you're leaving, Peter? If you'd just tell me, we can fix it, whatever it is!_ She tried to shout it across the void to him, but the mind behind those brilliant eyes remained closed to her. All at once, Olivia couldn't take it anymore, and dropped her gaze to the door handle, breaking the spell and letting her breath out in a steady stream through her nose. She hadn't even realized that she'd been holding it. Her hair slid down from her behind her ears, obscuring him from her view. Why did these things keep happening between them? Why was she making his departure more difficult for herself? He was leaving, and that was the end of it.

She unlocked the door and held it open for him. As he passed her by her, he leaned into her personal space for a brief instant. Curious at his strange behavior, Olivia trailed after him, quickly closing the distance between them as they head for the elevator up to the detention floor.

"Just for the record," Peter said blithely, glancing down at her as she joined him. He had a sly look on his face. "You don't smell too bad, Dunham."

"Hey!" she squawked, and tried to drive an elbow into his side. She didn't smell too bad? She only just managed to graze him as he danced away from her with a snicker.

.

Peter's good mood last until the moment he laid eyes on his father through the mirrored window into the interrogation room. Walter was sitting at the circular table inside, wearing a blue jump suit and with his hands clasped together in front of him. At once the angry set to his jaw returned, along with the furrowed eyebrows and the pinched lips. He stood arms crossed in front of the one-way glass, staring in at Walter silently. Olivia watched him for a moment, and then turned to the others in the room.

"Has he said anything about the cylinder yet?" Olivia asked Charlie, who had arrived along with Broyles before her and Peter, and was standing off to one side of the glass, leaning on one the frame with one forearm.

Charlie shrugged, keeping his on Walter through the window. "Nothing. All he's said is that he wants you, Bishop." He turned then, and glanced back at her. "And that he wants his clothes back, he said that a whole bunch."

Peter glanced his way, shaking his head. "Perfect." he muttered under his breath. He sighed, and then turned from the window, catching her gaze. "Let's get this over with."

Broyles, speaking for the first time, stopped them on their way out of the room. "I don't care how you do it," he said, looking at them both intently, "but you get him to tell you where he put that cylinder!"

Olivia nodded and brushed past him and out into the corridor, hoping Peter could keep his mouth shut for once as he trailed after her, which to her relief, he did. They moved the short the distance to the interrogation room door, and she hesitated, looking back to see if he was ready. He gave her a nod, and she pushed the door open and walked inside. The agent who was stationed inside the room with Walter, looked up from his spot against the wall at her entrance.

"Thank you." she said, giving him a nod. The man quickly left the room, leaving Peter and her alone with his father.

Peter moved slowly around the table opposite her, he glanced at Walter, and then looked away, his head shaking slightly as he ground his teeth. He looked furious, and he had every right to be. Walter had tricked them, and stolen government property. He'd actually physically assaulted, and then drugged Agent Farnsworth, who thankfully was okay, and that was the part Olivia had trouble reconciling with the most. There had never been any indication that his father might become violent toward one of them. Other than the occasional fit of manic behavior, which Peter had always been able to bring him back from, he'd been mostly sane as far as she could tell. At least as sane as any mad scientist could be.

Olivia tucked her hair behind her ears, and sat down across from Walter. As she moved to shuffle through a file folder sitting on the table, he began to speak.

"If it's at all possible," he said, looking anxiously between Peter and her. "I…I would really like to have my own clothes back." He let his attention settle on her, apparently having decided that it would be her decision.

"Let me explain how this works to you, Walter." Peter said, hugging his arms tightly across the front of his corduroy jacket. "You can't inject a federal officer with sedatives, steal government property, and then escape from protective custody, and then ask to be _not_ treated like a criminal. How do you not understand this?"

"Have you never taken anything that didn't belong to you because you knew it was the right thing to do?" Walter asked.

Peter shook his head. "This isn't about me."

"Maybe it is, Peter." Walter said cryptically.

The two men locked eyes and Olivia decided that she should intervene, before Peter said or did something that he might regret later. He had a look in his eyes that told her was on a razor's edge.

"You took the cylinder." she said, turning Walter's attention toward her. "Do you remember that?"

"Yes, of course I remember that." he said, nodding his head. He leaned forward on his elbows. "What would you like to know about it?"

"Where is it?" she asked, wanting to get straight to the point.

"Oh…" Walter shook his head. "I can't tell you that." he said in a sad voice. "But I can tell you that someone is coming to seek the cylinder. Thus, I had to hide it." He glanced between Peter and her, a furtive look crossing his features. "And I don't recall where, or from whom."

"We need you to remember, Walter." Olivia said gently, trying to coax it out of him. "It may be dangerous, and we need to help keep people safe. Tell me what it is."

"If I…if I attempted to explain it…" Walter said in a quavery voice, "You…you might think me mad."

"Don't worry." Peter said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he waved a hand between them. "There's no _chance_ of that happening!"

Walter glanced at his son, then looked back at her. "I believe there are only another four hours in which I must keep the cylinder from those who are trying to get it." he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "A theory I have discussed with my friend, who agrees with me."

"Your friend? Um…he's a tall fellow, right?" Peter said, raising a hand above his head. "He's pink, with big fuzzy ears?"

Olivia cast a glare in the younger Bishop's direction, trying to get him to just shut up. He wasn't helping things at all.

"No, that's not him at all." Walter said seriously. "He's a man. Quite nice. Albeit extremely bald. No eyebrows either." He blinked, and then let out a giggle and smiled goofily. "It's rather disturbing at first, but you get accustomed to it."

Olivia looked at Peter, wanting to see his reaction to this revelation. Walter actually knew the bald guy! How was that possible? Peter didn't look impressed. If anything, he just looked more annoyed with the situation. She turned back to Walter. "You talked to him?"

"Do you really think it's a good idea to feed into his delusions at this point?" Peter asked, thrusting his hands out toward his father.

Olivia ignored him. Walter hadn't seen the photos of the guy back at the lab, and there had been no talk of him being eyebrowless then, so he couldn't have known that unless was telling the truth. "Walter, who is he?" she said, leaning close to him over the edge of the table. "Where can we find him?"

"Oh…you won't be able to find him." Walter replied with certainty.

"Of course not!" Peter said mockingly, leaning over his father with both hands on the table. "Cause he's in the seventh dimension."

"He's shy!" Walter said sharply, looking up at Peter, who turned away after a moment, muttering to himself. Walter looked back her. "He wouldn't be much use to you anyway, he just observes."

Peter spun around and leaned over his father again. "Walter, you haven't talked to this man!" he said, shaking his head angrily. "You've only seen him in Olivia's photographs, so cut out the gibberish, and just tell us where the cylinder is!"

"Must you always be so small-minded?" Walter snarled, his face twisted with rage. "Damn it, don't be like her," His jaw jutted outward as his voice dropped an octave. "Like your mother. Always questioning my judgment. I am not a child! I will not be babied!"

Olivia shot a look at Peter's face as a silence fell between the father and son. What she saw there made her anxious, and she slowly relaxed back in her chair, watching him closely. The muscle in his jaw clenched, then released, then clenched again, as he looked down at the table. After a moment he looked up, and the smile on his face made her heart drop. It was that fuck-you smile he'd worn so much when she first met him, just over a month ago. It seemed like it had been years since she'd seen it. She'd hoped to never see it again.

"Thank you for that, Walter." Peter said happily, the smile still in place. "That's exactly what I needed. Guilt relieved." He pushed off the table and walked around it toward the door. As he pulled it open, he looked glanced back at her. "Olivia, I am very sorry, but I think you'll understand why I don't want to hang around any longer." he said, and walked out the door, letting it close behind him with a thud of finality.

Olivia stared at the closed-door for moment, shocked that he'd just walked out on her. He had just left her there with his father. What was she supposed to do with him? _Maybe he'll come back. He said he'd stay until the end of the case, _she thought desperately, trying to regroup.

"I upset him, didn't I?" Walter said softly.

Olivia turned from the door, ignoring Walter, and forcing herself to calmness, and pushing a sudden sadness away. It was a struggle to do so. He wasn't going to come back, she could feel it somehow. Now that it had actually happened, she was surprised to learn she didn't really blame him much. A person could only bend so much, before they broke. She wished him good luck, and hoped that he stayed out of trouble, for his sake, wherever he ended up at. It would probably be far from Boston, and more than likely, she would never see him again. Pressing her lips together tightly, she collected the file off the table, and left the room without a glance at the elder Bishop. She needed to find Broyles.

After sticking her head in the observation room and his office, she finally found him in the open office area, assigning tasks to a group of agents in one corner of the space. He dismissed them as she approached, and motioned for her to follow him as he headed toward the corridor leading back to his office.

"Where are we?" he said.

"I couldn't tell you." Olivia shrugging her shoulders futilely. "Walter's hiding something. He's being as cryptic as ever. He says he had to keep the cylinder safe. That someone is looking for it." she stopped outside his office door, forcing Broyles to do so also. "Welcome to the joys of Walter Bishop."

"Well, where did he take it?"

Olivia shook her head, "I don't know. You'll have to ask Walter that. He won't tell me." She hesitated, and looked around them. "I did get one thing out of him though. Apparently, he had a meeting with a man matching the description of our friend. The bald guy."

"Well...I know a lot of bald guys." He said dryly, his own bald head reflecting the light from the fixture above.

"The Observer." she clarified, and watched his eyebrows climb up his forehead.

"Really." Broyles said. "Are you saying that Walter actually knows him?"

Olivia looked away from him, trying not to think of Peter, and what would happen to Walter without him here. "I'm saying he's not cooperating with us." she said, aware that she wasn't really answering his question. "…I'm saying I'm confused."

Broyles was silent for a moment, then asked the question she'd been hoping to avoid for the moment, until she was sure that he really had gone, and wasn't coming back.

"Where did Peter go?" he said casually. "I saw him leave earlier. He looked like he was in a hurry."

Olivia swallowed uneasily. "I…uh…I think he may have just quit." she said, feeling that same sadness again, like saying it out loud made it more real.

"What?" Broyles said flatly. "Why?"

"Walter said some things in there…" She hesitated, not really wanting to go into detail. It wasn't his business. "I…I think he just had enough."

"Damn it!" Broyles said, smacking his fist into his palm. She didn't think she had ever heard him curse before. "We need him to stay. Without him we don't have Dr. Bishop...unless you think the doctor would work for us without his son?"

Olivia was shocked that he still wanted Walter after the events of the day. She'd thought she would be the one having to convince him, right up to the moment Peter had actually left. "I uh...I'm not sure. I kind of doubt it."

He paced a few steps, rubbing his bald head, then turned back to her, narrowing his gaze. "Then you have to convince him to stay." he ordered. "Offer him whatever you need to."

_What the hell do you think I've been trying to do? _Olivia wanted to scream her frustration at him. Instead, she just nodded. "Yeah...sure." she lied, and moved past him, needing to find some privacy. After turning the corner from Broyles's office, she slipped into an unused conference room, and leaned back against the door, leaving the light off. She wasn't going to do it.

Olivia had already tried to convince him to stay twice, and failed. Money wasn't the answer. She had nothing more to offer him...or at least nothing more she was willing to offer him, though she was sure that wasn't what Broyles had been implying. There was no way she could debase herself, or Peter, in such a way. It wasn't like it would be a sure thing anyway, after the hair she'd seen on his jacket. No, if he wanted to leave she wasn't going to stop him. _You didn't have any problems doing what you had to do before_, a voice in the back of her mind said. It had been different then. He'd been a picture on a photograph, and a suspected criminal at that. _What does that matter? _the voice continued. The difference was that she knew him now, he wasn't a face on a photograph. He was her...friend, she supposed. She didn't have too many friends these days. If Peter wanted to leave, she couldn't force him to stay, not again. She owed him that much.

* * *

**Peter** pushed open the lab doors and hurried inside. He wanted to be in and out of there, before Olivia or anyone else had a chance to try and stop him.

He was fucking done with this place. He was done with the FBI, with Walter, and he was done pining after Olivia. It wasn't like she would have ever given him the time of day in any case, different sides of the track and all that. His leaving would benefit everyone. Walter clearly still needed to be in a mental institution, and there was no reason for anyone to go after her to get to him if he was long gone. It was past time. Walter's shit from earlier was just what he needed to get him off his ass and go.

Stepping down to the main floor, he paused at Gene's stall, looking in at the big black and white cow. She was chewing on some hay, and he threw a little more over the railing into her stall, before patting her on the nose.

"Nice knowing you, Gene." he said. "I hope I don't eat you someday." The cow made no reply, just continued her chewing without pause. He smiled, and headed toward the office on the far side of the lab.

Peter found an empty box in Her office that he carried out to the lab table that had been been his for the last month. He began shoving the few things he'd managed to accumulate in the short time he'd been there in no particular order; he'd sort through it all later once he was out of Boston.

His phone rang and he checked the number before answering it, making sure that it wasn't Olivia. He'd been expecting a call from her, trying to convince him to stay. It wasn't her though, it was his old pal Brian, finally returning his call from earlier that day. The disappointment that he felt at not seeing Olivia's number there only made him more determined to leave.

"Hello." Peter said, cocking his his head, and holding the phone up to his ear with his shoulder so he could use both hands. He crossed the lab to another table, and looked through a box that Walter had found in the basement storage recently, containing old documents from his childhood. He thought his father had mentioned something about his birth certificate being in it.

"Bishop! You rang?" Brian's deep voice came over the line.

"Hey, man." he said shuffling through the papers in the box. "Thanks for call me back so fast. It's only been what, seven or eight hours since I called?"

"Yeah, and? Just cause you've been bangin' my bartender," Brian said with a chuckle, "doesn't mean that _I'm_ getting out of bed early for you."

"Look, don't start with me about that right now, okay?" Peter said. "It's really not been a good day."

"Ohh...I see how it is." Brian replied. "Last time you called me up out of the blue, you needed a favor. An expensive one if I remember right."

"Well, guess what," Peter said cheerfully. "I'm calling this time to ask for a favor, too."

"It ain't nothing illegal is it?" His friend said. "Cause I'm done with that shit, you know that."

"No, nothing like that," he replied. "I'm actually looking for some work." His fingers stumbled across an old photo of Walter and him. He was sitting on their old couch, while a much younger looking Walter was staring over his shoulder. Both of them looked happy. It was strange, he had no memory of the picture ever being taken. He must have been too young. His birth certificate was underneath the photo, a rubber band wrapped around them both. He grabbed them both and moved back over to his box, tossing them inside.

"What kind of work?"

"I don't really care, as long as it puts some money in my pocket."

"Then you can come work for me, man!" Brian said excitedly. "Just like old days! Kylie will love it too. She's been asking about you, Bishop."

"No, that won't work, man." Peter replied. "Anywhere but Boston."

"Oh, I get ya. Come by the bar anyway, I should be able to hook you up."

"Okay. Thanks man." Peter said, ending the call and looking around the lab for anything else he might need from there. He was going to owe his old pal big, if pulled this out. Not seeing anything else of value, he grabbed his box of stuff, and headed toward the stairs.

"Hey Bishop!" a man's voice suddenly called from behind him. "Turn around, slowly."

Peter had frozen mid-step at the first word. The guy had him, there was probably a gun pointed at his back at that moment. From the sound of him, he'd been less than twenty feet away. There was no way he could miss, and the nearest cover was...too far. He'd never make it. _Fuck._

"Do it now!"

"Alright." he said, "I'm doing it, don't get your panties in a bunch."

He pivoted around on one foot, looking for the man who'd been speaking. The lab was fairly dark, as he'd neglected to turn on more than one row of lights when he'd entered. A shadow stepped forward and man he didn't recognize crossed over into the light.

The man was near his own height, maybe slightly shorter, with a wide, flat nose, and dark eyes. He seemed to be fit, and was wearing a black stocking hat and an old, gray trench-coat. Peter didn't recognize him. Maybe Eddie had made some new hirings. There was a wicked looking gun in his hand. It looked like a cross between a hot glue gun with its pointed tip, and a flame thrower. The only reason he knew it was a gun at all was because the man's hand was on the trigger.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, taking a step forward. "You work for Eddie?"

The gun came up, its tip pointed directly at his chest. "Where is it?" the man asked vaguely.

"Where's what?" Peter replied.

"Wrong answer, my friend."

Peter saw a flash of light and then nothing, as a sledgehammer struck him in the chest, knocking him off his feet.

* * *

**Olivia **sat in one of the private offices, looking through the crime scene photos from the last appearance of the cylinder in Quantico, along with the most recent appearance in Brooklyn. She kept flipping back between the two photos with the bald man in them at both locations. It was the same man, and he looked the exact same in both pictures, minus the hat in the older photo. Who was he? How could Walter possibly know him, and have spoken to him earlier that day? None of it made any sense.

There was a knock, and the door opened, and Agent Rodriguez stuck his head in. "Agent Dunham?" he said, hold up a phone she recognized as hers. She must have left it out there somewhere. "Agent Farnsworth is on the phone."

"Thanks." she said, shutting down the workstation and getting to her feet. She took her phone from the agent and exited the office. "Astrid?" she said, holding the phone to her ear.

"Olivia!" The younger woman sounded light she was worried, or maybe scared.

"What's going on?" Olivia asked, feeling disturbed all of a sudden.

"Is Peter still there with you?"

"No...he left a while ago." she replied, the uneasy feeling sharpening to a point in her gut. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm at the lab." Astrid said. "It looks like it was trashed. How long ago did he leave?"

"I dunno..about an hour?" Olivia said, and started in the open office floor. "When he left, he was pretty upset with Walter. Maybe he just finally had enough, and just...left."

"No." the junior agent disagreed. "I think there was a struggle here."

"What?" Olivia gasped, increasing her pace. "What made you ask about Peter?"

"I think I found his cell phone here...it looks like it was stomped on, or crushed by something."

"I'll uh...I'll check it out." she said. "Thanks Astrid." Olivia ended the call, and came to a stop, staring down at her phone, trying to settle her pounding heart. She dialed Peter's number, praying he would pick up, that Astrid had been wrong. It went straight to voicemail.

She hurried to the nearest occupied cubicle. "Call Harvard Campus Security." she instructed the agent.  
"There's a closed-circuit camera outside Countway Library aimed at the Kresge Building. I need footage going back two hours from right now."

The agent nodded and pulled on his headpiece.

Olivia left him to it and hurried towards Broyles office. She knocked once, and then entered.

Broyles looked especially grim when he looked up at her entrance. "Dunham," he said, getting to his feet. "I was just about to go looking for you...I'm afraid I have some bad news." His voice was full of regret.

"What is it?"

He walked out from behind his desk and put a hand on her shoulder. "You might want to sit down."

"Just tell me!" she said, shaking him off. Her voice sounding vicious to her ears, but she couldn't control it. If Peter was dead, she would never forgive herself for dragging him into this.

Broyles sighed and looked away from her. "Henry Jacobson is dead."

For a moment, relief filled her, making feel giddy. It had nothing to do with Peter. Then she replayed what he'd actually said, and the terrible feeling returned. Her old mentor was dead, that's what he'd been telling her.

"I don't understand," she said dazedly. "I...I just saw him yesterday. How could he be dead?"

Broyles walked over to the window and stared down at the near empty office. "His body was found this morning by a cleaning lady." he said, turning back to face her. "The time of death was determined to be late last night."

"How?" she said softly.

"You sure you want to hear this?" he asked with a frown. She nodded and he continued. "Blunt force trauma by an unknown weapon. Almost every bone in his abdomen was completely shattered. Similar injuries were found on the men killed at the warehouse."

"Oh my god." she whispered, feeling the room start to spin. It was her fault. She'd killed him.

"I'm afraid there's more." Broyles said in a low voice.

More? How could there be more? What more could there possibly be? Olivia reached out for the edge of his desk to steady herself. There was a metal trashcan sitting at the side of his desk, and she thought there was a good chance she might be needing it soon.

"What else?" she said after she'd recovered her voice. She tensed every muscle in her body, forcing her betraying stomach to stillness.

Broyles let out a long breath before replying. "Prior to his death...we believe that he may have been tortured. Probably for information about the cylinder and its location." He regarded her silently for a moment, then turned toward the door. "You can take a moment in here. Come find me when you're ready."

Olivia stared dumbfounded at his back as he moved away from her. This was too much. Her old friend dead, and...he'd been tortured! Because of her visit. He'd always been like a father to her. And now Peter..._PETER!_

"Sir!" she blurted, gathering her will with steely determination and forcing all the of sorrow and despair into the back of her mind for later. There was no time for crying. That was for when it was all over with. Broyles turned back to her, surprised at her outburst. "Something happened at the lab, a struggle or something. Astrid found Peter's phone there. With this new information...I...I believe there's a chance he may have been taken by the same person who killed Jacobson."

"Can you handle this right now, Dunham?" he asked her bluntly. "There's no shame if it's too much to-"

Olivia silenced him with a look, taking a step toward the door. "I'm not going to let that happen to Peter." she stated in a deadly calm voice. "Not if I have even the _slightest_ chance to save him."

Broyles was expressionless as he examined her face. Apparently satisfied with what he saw there, he nodded for her to follow him. Out in the corridor, she told him the details of Astrid's call.

"I already have a camera feed from near the lab being pulled." Olivia said, walking a few steps away from him and back toward the steps down to the cubicles.

"Good." he replied. "I'll send Agent Francis and a team to Harvard. See if they concur with Agent Farnsworth." He turned and walked to other way down corridor.

Olivia rushed to the agent who she'd instructed to get the camera feed. "Find anything?" she asked him.

"Other than Peter Bishop, there's only been this guy." he said, pointing to his monitor. "This is the best view we have."

Olivia stared at man. With the grainy image, he was difficult to make out. It looked like was wearing a dark stocking hat and trench coat. He was holding something in his right hand, but she couldn't quite make it out. A weapon possibly. She swallowed, forcing down her fear. "Print this out." she said woodenly.

After grabbing the print, she hurried to Walter holding room, not even noticing the curious faces as she arrived at a full sprint. Walter looked up as she pushed the door open and walked over to the table.

"This was taken outside your lab, Walter." she said with preamble, putting the picture down on the table for him to see. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

"I don't believe so, no." Walter said glancing down at the picture. He sat up straight, looking at her anxiously. "Something has happened, yes? Something unfortunate. What is it?"

"I believe this man may have abducted Peter."

"That's not...No!" He quailed, looking down again. "Peter will lead him to it!" There was a terrible fear in his wide eyes.

"To what? The cylinder?" Olivia asked, leaning over him on the table. "How? Did you tell Peter where you put it?"

"No, of course not." Walter said, shaking his head. "I...I don't need to."

Olivia stared at him then, confused. "What does that even mean?"

Walter swallowed, and looked down at his hands. "It's not important." he said in a dull voice. "What's important, is that you find Peter." He looked up, and his eyes glistened as he spoke. "Please find my son, Agent Dunham."

Olivia pushed away from the table and gazed down at him. "You have to tell me where you put the cylinder, Walter." she said, raising her shoulders. "That's the only way I can."

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**So here's the next part. I hope you all like it. Leave me a review if you can spare a moment. Thanks for reading!**


	32. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

**.**

**-Unknown location**

**Peter's **nose began to twitch. The damp, moldy odor that was tickling at his consciousness refused to dissipate as it stung at the inside of his nasal cavity. His lips quirked as another smell, that of sulfur, or rotten eggs, joined the musky odor in a cruel combination that turned his stomach. Awareness returned slowly, as the rest of his senses came online, one by one.

The first thing he became cognizant of was that his chest _really_ hurt. It felt like he'd gone ten rounds with someone's boot. Or a baseball bat. Had he been in an accident? He tried to touch it, and his eyes flew open as both his left arm, and then his right arm refused to complete the simple motion. Was he paralyzed? No, that wasn't it, he realized almost immediately, forcing back panic. He could definitely feel his fingers and toes. He looked around.

The space Peter found himself in was faintly lit with a dim, yellow light. Directly above him, were rusty pipes and old ductwork, visible through a rotten suspended ceiling. Most of the ceiling tiles were gone, and those that remained were stained with the infamous black mold, bane of inner-city slums the world over. _Where the hell am I, and how did I get here?_ He looked to his right, his eyeballs rolling in their sockets, but his head refused to follow them.

_What the fuck?_ Full awareness flooded back into him then, and the realization that he was being restrained, and was in fact strapped to a table made the panic return full force. He pulled at his bonds with his arms and legs, testing the tensile strength of the material holding him. His back arched from the effort, causing a shooting pain in his ribs, like he was being stabbed in the chest with many needles at once.

"Gahhh!" he gasped at the pain, and fell back on the table, his eyes going wide as he panted through gritted teeth at the intensity of it. One his ribs, maybe more than one, were definitely broken, or cracked at the least. Not a good sign for any future escape attempts. He tasted the salty iron flavor of blood in his mouth, and wondered worriedly if he was bleeding internally.

Peter heard movement to his left, and he rolled his eyes that way, straining his neck against the padded strap holding his head in place. How very thoughtful of his assailant to use a padded strap. _A compassionate captor! _He thought wildly as he was able shift his head a fraction in the direction the sound had come from. The effort earned him another round of hurt, his ribs protesting from the effort, and he tried to control the pain with measured breaths through his nose.

A man stepped into view. He was wearing a black stocking hat and a gray trench-coat. Peter had seen him before. As the memory of their encounter at the lab surfaced, his eyes wandered to four solid, circular dots stuck to the man's stocking hat across his brow. The dots were in a row, almost like insignia. Only they were just colors, green, green, green, red. The last thing he remembered before waking up, was a pulse of light. The man had shot him with that strange looking gun he'd been holding! How was he still alive?

"Who are you?" he said as the man approached.

There was no reply from his abductor, who was carrying a handful of gray, thin wires and a roll of medical tape. He moved to Peter's side and placed the objects down on his chest, and out of his view. There was a tearing sound, which he Peter recognized as the medical tape, and the man turned and bent impassively over his head, with one of the thin wires and a strip of tape in hand. The wire had some sort of electrode or sensor on one end, and he flinched as it was taped to his forehead. The man turned away and there was another tearing sound, and then he was back with another wire. They reminded him of the electrodes Walter had him attach to Olivia before her trek in the old tank. He wished his last words to her had been different, less angry.

"What the hell are those?" he said, trying to keep his voice calm as he tried to look up at the one taped to the center of his forehead. Still no reply from Mr. Stocking Hat. "I guess you're not the talkative type, huh?" Peter said, watching as more of the sensors, or whatever they were, were attached in an arc around his forehead, and then in front of his ears, with the last one taped above his jugular on his neck. "That's too bad for you...cause I love to talk, to chit-chat, to shoot the shit-"

The man spun suddenly, backhanding him in the mouth with an unexpected quickness. The force of the blow made his vision double as his upper lip split against his teeth, and there was an eruption of fresh blood in his mouth, in addition to to ringing in his ears.

"Son of a bitch!" Peter spat, spraying blood and trying to turn his face away from further punishment, which was a lesson in futility, as the strap around his head was just too tight allow it.

The man grabbed him by the chin, squeezing viciously as he leaned over him, close to his face.

"Shut your mouth." he whispered, and gave his head a jerk, wrenching his neck painfully.

Peter groaned, and spit out another froth of blood, his breath coming out in short gasps as he eyed the other man warily, preparing for another blow. The man watched him for moment, then straightened and moved away from him, carefully taking the loose ends of the thin wires with him. He was able to twist his head just enough to follow the man's movement over to a rack of electronic equipment he didn't recognize sitting on a nearby table.

"You're the smartass one, aren't you?" the man said, standing with his back to Peter. "It must run in your blood."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Peter said, trying to make out what the guy was doing at the table.

He didn't like the look of that equipment, or that the guy seemed was plugging the thin wires into one of them. It was all too much like one of Walter's experiments for his taste. He thought of Olivia then, and how utterly fearless she'd been before going into the tank. He had the feeling that she was made of far sterner stuff than he.

"I guess you don't work for Big Eddie, do you?" Peter said apprehensively as the man turned from rack of equipment, carrying a thick cable with a clamp on the send similar to that of an automobile jumper cable. He walked past Peter's makeshift gurney and over to an old fusebox, mounted on the wooden skeletal remains of what was once an interior wall. The fusebox was open, and he clamped the cable to the copper busbar at the bottom of the panel.

"Look...I...I think you got the wrong guy." he called out as the man moved out of his view. He could feel panic beginning to set in as his breathing became uneven in his ears, coming out in irregular bursts. "What I'm saying is...whatever it is that you want," His eyes followed the man as he walked past and back over to the table with the unknown electronics. "I...I don't think I'm gonna be able to give it to you."

His captor, and soon to be torturer if he was right about what was coming, pivoted back toward Peter. In his hands were two red and black wires, with what looked like a wad of cloth attached to the end of each one. He made a show of inspecting them in the yellow light as moved slowly back to the table. Their eyes met, and he knew, he just somehow knew, that the bastard was planning on sticking them into him somewhere.

"No...no!" Peter said through clenched teeth, and jerked against the straps, ignoring the pain in his chest as the man leaned in, and held his head still with one hand over the strap on his forehead. His eyes followed the man's other hand as it descended toward his face. In a deft motion, as if the guy had done this kind of thing before, he began shoving one of cloth-covered tips of wire up his right nostril.

Peter's eyes watered at once, as if he'd been struck in the nose as the thin wire began the journey up his nasal passage. He could feel it as the tip of the wire met some kind of fleshy resistance, and then a bright bloom of pain as it broke through.

"Ahhhh!" he bellowed, his hands and feet thrashing uselessly against their bonds. His mouth began to fill with blood again. Before he even realized his captor had stopped feeding the first wire, he felt the second wire being shoved in his left nostril, this time in much more hurried manner, as if his new friend had lost his patience. As it ripped through the same barrier the first wire had encountered, Peter thought he could actually hear the tearing sound over his screams. A few seconds later it was over, and he relaxed back on the table groaning weakly, the taste of blood thick on his tongue.

The man pushed away from him and turned back to his equipment. He picked up an earpiece with a cord trailing from it and shoved it in his ear. Then he slowly turned a knob on his machine, tilting his head as if her were listening for a certain sound. After a moment he turned back to Peter, a knowing smile on his face.

"You have something I need." he stated. "Tell me where it is."

Peter tried to shake his head. "I have no idea...what you're talking about!" he gasped, as the ceiling above him went in and out of focus.

"I'm going to ask you some questions." he said, turning back to his machines and spinning a dial on the front of one all the way to the right. He looked back at Peter, his thumb hovering over a red button. "Please answer honestly. What's the most pain you've ever felt in your life?"

Before Peter could reply, he pressed the red button.

The pain was immediate, and excruciating. All of the muscles in his body convulsed at once, arching his back so that only heels of his feet and his shoulder blades touched the table. The stinging pain in his chest was an inconsequential thing, a gnat buzzing in his ear in the face of the all-encompassing paroxysm afflicting him. It was felt like it was endless, driving away all thought and all other considerations. His worries for Olivia and his anger at Walter were simply gone. He was gone. All that was left was the burning from the inside out, and a terrible screaming in his ear that obliterated all other sounds.

As suddenly as it came, the pain winked out, leaving behind a ghost he could still feel as he collapsed back on the table, his muscles quivering uncontrollably. His throat was raw, and he realized that the awful shrieking he'd heard had been his own. Gasping for air, with the smell of his own sweat heavy in his nose, he struggled to maintain consciousness as the desire to just let everything fall away was overwhelming.

"When was the last time you were in love?" the man asked, holding one hand up to the ear the with the earpiece and inclining his head again.

Peter blinked repeatedly, wondering if he'd heard the question correctly. "What?" he wheezed. The rawness in his throat made his voice sound guttural, and he barely recognized himself. The last time he'd been in love? He'd never been in love with anyone, as far as he knew. He thought he was too selfish to ever allow that to happen. "I gotta say," Peter rasped, trying to regain his breath. "If this...is an audition to become...the new host the _Dating Game_...I don't think I like your chances."

His captor's eyes were focused inward as he listened intently through his earpiece. "I don't know what that means." he said absently, glancing over at his equipment and making an adjustment to one of the knobs before turning back to Peter. "You and your colleagues had the cylinder last in that lab. Where is it now?"

"I...have no idea." Peter panted, "and even if I did...I wouldn't tell you." Maybe his father had been wise not to tell anyone where he'd hidden it. He didn't think it would take long to force it out of him using that machine. Of course, if the guy didn't believe him, he might end up killing him, by trying to force out what wasn't there. He wondered if the man planned on killing him anyway, just on general principle. Either way he was dead, of that he had little doubt. Psychos that kidnapped and tortured people, usually didn't let them live to talk about it.

The man stood over him, staring down with a faint grin on his face, still listening to his earpiece. After a moment his grin widened into a smile, "But you just did tell me." he said. "Your father hid it. But you don't know where." He paused, his smile turning menacing. "And yes, to answer your question, when this is over, I just might kill you. It depends on a few things."

Peter stared at the man's face, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. He hadn't spoken out loud had he? No, he wasn't that out of it yet. His eyes wandered to the earpiece and then to the machine it was connected to, which also happened to be hooked up to himself as well. _What the fuck is going on here?_

"When was the last time your father kissed you?"

His eyes went back to his captor's face. It appeared to be a serious inquiry. "I think...that that's your lamest question yet." he said, feeling an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh, despite the almost certainty in his mind that he was going to be dead in a short while. Maybe that was why, at this point what did it matter? No one was coming to help him. He hoped no one found his body, especially Olivia, who would no doubt blame herself, despite it being his decision to stay and help in the end.

The man's smile disappeared, and was replaced with a feral snarl. "Oh yeah?" He moved back to the machine, and looked back at Peter savagely, putting his thumb over the red button.

"No!" Peter cried out, "Don't do tha-"

The man in the stocking hat pushed the button.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhrg!" Peter screamed uncontrollably, as his back arched again. Though he was more prepared for the agonizing pain than before, it still tore through his being with hurricane force, rolling his eyes back in their sockets. He tried to fight it, tried to focus on something pleasant, like the smell of Olivia's hair when he'd leaned in close to her earlier that day. Maybe he could outlast it, and the bastard would turn it off before his mind broke.

Only the pain didn't stop, it kept going and going, blowing past all his defenses until he was laid bare before it. He would do anything to get it to stop, anything at all.

"Good. Now think about your father." A man's voice intruded on his misery. With a voice to guide him back, he realized he could still think rationally through the pain.

Groaning, Peter obeyed the voice immediately, his will to resist broken and he pictured Walter and their first conversation they had at their reunion in St. Claire's. His father had expected him to be fatter.

"Good. Good." The man's voice seemed happy. Maybe now the pain would stop.

"Now think about a time before he was sent away to the institution." the voice instructed. "A happy time, a time when you still believed that your father loved you."

Peter thought back to his childhood, and the house they lived in on the shore of Reiden Lake. His father would come in his room to tuck him in at bedtime when he was home. He'd always ask to see Peter's coin rolling trick that his mother had taught him. When he could do it successfully, it would bring tears to his father's eyes. Surely his father had loved him then, even though he seemed to spend more time in his car than he did their house sometimes.

"Besides the car, and your old house…does your father have any other hiding places?"

_Hiding places?_ Peter couldn't think, the pain was starting to overwhelm him again. He expected his flesh to start smoking and catch fire at any moment, for his muscles to all tear from the strain they were under.

"Answer the question!" the voice shouted in his ear.

Peter struggled to think. He didn't know what the voice wanted from him. His father had never confided in him. In the latter years with Walter at their home, he had most of his time in his study with his father's old books, rather than with his wife and son.

"Does your father have-" The voice broke off, and there was silence for a moment, and then a grunt. "Thank you." the man's voice said, and then the pain stopped, like the flip of a switch.

Peter's chest heaved as the memory of the pain receded, like the tide going out to sea. Awareness of his surroundings and his current situation returned, and he opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling above him, wondering why he was still alive, and why the man had turned his torture machine off.

His captor's face came into view as he moved next to Peter's head, still strapped to the table. He removed the earpiece from his ear, dropping it on the floor next to him.

"What...what happened?" Peter asked hoarsely, not really expecting to get an answer.

"You just told me where the cylinder is." the man replied triumphantly.

Peter tried to shake his head. No, that wasn't possible. He didn't know where the cylinder was. There was no way he could have told him, no matter what had been done to him.

The man laughed scornfully at his confusion, then reached out and tore off all the sensors taped to his head at once. The sting of the tape pulling away was almost pleasant after the machine. The man reached for the strap holding his head in place, and released it. Once Peter could move his head again, he groaned in relief, feeling at once a million times better. The man turned away for a moment, and when he swung back in Peter's direction, he was holding the odd-looking gun in his hand. He pointed it at Peter's head as he grabbed the strap on his right hand.

"What is that thing?" Peter said, nodding weakly toward the odd-looking weapon.

"I'm going to unstrap you now." he said, ignoring his question "If you try anything, including opening that mouth of yours again, I'm gonna kill you."

Peter swallowed and nodded silently, not wanting to test his words just yet, and the man moved quickly around the table releasing the rest of his restraints. When he finished he stepped away from the table, still holding the gun on him.

"Get up."

Peter swung one leg over the edge of the table, followed by the other, and then almost collapsed when he tried to put his weight on them. He grabbed the table edge behind him for support, until he was sure that he wasn't going to fall on his face, and then stepped gingerly away from the table.

The gun never wavered as the man watched him vigilantly in the dim light. "Move." he said after a moment, gesturing with the weapon for Peter to go in front of him.

Moving was painful, like he'd just had a major blowout at the gym. His body hurt in places he wasn't even aware it could be sore as he stepped past his abductor and moved through the emaciated ruins of what he now recognized as an old machine shop. Most of the metalworking machines had been removed, but he saw the remains of a mill sitting crookedly on its stand in one corner as he moved toward a metal door with peeling gray paint which must have served at one time as the rear entrance. He spied a length metal pipe sitting propped up against the wall as he approached, and quickly calculated his chances of successfully retrieving it without getting shot in the back. They were not good.

"Faster. Move." He felt the point of the gun press hard into his back, propelling him forward toward the door.

Peter almost opened his mouth to ask what the rush was, but decided against it as he pulled open the door with protesting fingers. Parked in a narrow alley directly outside the door was an old beige Plymouth Duster, a '76 if he wasn't mistaken. It was difficult to tell in the narrow beam of light cast by the open doorway. The alley was dark, as all the overhead lighting was either broken or burned out, and it was impossible to even make a guess at what part of the city they might be in.

"Rear of the car. Now." the man ordered from behind him.

Peter complied, moving to his left toward the rear of the car. He had a sneaking suspicion that his ride, wherever they were going, was going to be very uncomfortable.

"Stop." the man said when he was the back of the car. "Turn around, slowly."

He turned around carefully on the gravely surface of the alley, keeping his hands where the man could see them. When he was facing his abductor, the man tossed him a set of keys, which he barely caught in the dim moonlight.

"Open the trunk."

Peter sighed, and turned to the trunk, staring at it unhappily. "C'mon, man, is this really necessary?" he said, deciding that he could take the risk. The guy obviously wanted to keep him alive for some further use. "Can't you just tie me up in the back seat or something?"

"Open it!" the man said angrily from behind him.

It was worth a try. He bent forward, trying one of the two keys on the key-ring. The first key he tried worked, and trunk popped up with a click. He pulled the key out and looked back over his shoulder.

"Drop the keys on the ground and get in."

Peter let the keys fall at his feet, then lifted the trunk hatch, which groaned as only pre-hydraulic trunk hatches could. The trunk was empty, completely bare of anything he could possibly use to escape with. Even the spare tire was gone. With his muscles protesting, he climbed in, flopping painfully down on his back with his legs bent to the side awkwardly. A bright beam from a flashlight was suddenly in his eyes, and he closed them, trying to preserve his night vision.

"Gimme your hands." The man said, standing above him, keeping the light on his face.

Knowing that resisting was useless at that point, Peter held his hands out as the man instructed. With practiced ease, his captor looped a thick zip-tie over his wrists and yanked it viciously tight. When he was satisfied with his work, the man stared in at him silently for a moment.

"This will all be over soon." he said, and slammed the trunk hatch closed.

* * *

**Olivia** had never even heard of Arbor Lincoln Cemetery. After Walter had finally relented, and told her the location of the cylinder, she'd had Rodriguez look up the location for her while she reported to Broyles. Her superior had been loath to allow her to leave, wanting her to wait for a team to be assembled, but in the end, she had ignored him and simply left the building after walking out of his office. He could reprimand her later. There was no time.

She backed her suv out of her parking spot under the Federal Building, and drove toward the exit, the tires squealing as she made the turn up the ramp faster than was proper. The noise drew the attention of several men in black suits that were standing together, talking near the rear of one of their vehicles. She ignored their curious looks as she gunned the accelerator past them and out of the garage. There was no time, Peter had no time. By her estimation, he had been missing for almost three hours, plenty of time for whoever had taken him to do any manner of unspeakable things to him.

She should have let him leave when he had the chance, when he wanted to. If her own selfishness had gotten him killed… Olivia ran a hand through her hair and swallowed through the tightness in her throat. It wasn't going to happen. Peter Bishop was going to be fine; she wouldn't allow any other outcome. He would probably have some smartass comment on her being late or something to that effect when she found him. Reaching down in front of her suv's center console, she flipped on the lightbar and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The flashes of red from the lightbar reflecting off the windshield made her think of Peter sitting next to her, and his remark about wanting to try out driving sometime with the sirens on and how he'd been genuinely excited to do so. He would never get the chance to now.

Traffic was light as she made the turn on to I-90. The cemetery was located northwest of Boston about forty-five minutes away, at normal highway speeds. She intended to make it there in less than thirty minutes. As she focused on the cone of light cast by the headlights, her thoughts drifted to Henry Jacobson, and what had been done to him prior to his death. Broyles hadn't gone into specifics, but from his tone, she knew that it whatever it was, it most certainly had been horrific. Jacobson had known that she had the cylinder, but she'd never mentioned the lab to him. How had this attacker known to go there? The whole case was very strange, from the cylinder, to the way the agents at the warehouse and Jacobson had been killed, to their unknown attacker, or possibly attackers, there could be more than one for all she knew.

The possibility that there might be more than one assailant had not occurred to her until that moment, but for some reason she didn't think it to be the case. From the short glimpse of the man she'd seen in the camera footage, he looked like a loner to her, a man on a mission behind enemy lines. In the end, it didn't really matter to her whether he was alone or not, she would have to deal with it either way.

The ringing of her cell phone broke her line of meandering thoughts as she turned north on to I-95. She grabbed it off the passenger seat and checked the number, expecting it to be Broyles. To her surprise it was Charlie.

"Charlie!" she said, putting him on speaker.

"Liv! Where the hell are you?" Charlie's rough voice echoed through the phone. "Please tell me you're not going alone-"

"There was no time!" she interrupted. "The chances of finding Peter alive..." she broke off, as the constriction in her throat returned, tighter than ever. After a struggle, she swallowed the lump and continued. "I couldn't wait. He's my responsibility, Charlie."

There was a pause, and she heard him take in a deep breath. "I understand why you might think that, Liv." he said carefully. "But we don't know anything about what you're walking in to. There could be more than just the one guy! I heard about the warehouse. Everyone there was dead, including all the agents."

Olivia shook her head. He didn't understand, and she couldn't explain it to him. Her relationship with Peter Bishop was a strange one, though she'd only known him for barely a month, he'd somehow become…important to her in ways she didn't dare think too deeply about. The bottom line was that she owed it to him to do everything in her power to find him, even if that meant breaking protocol.

"I have to do this, Charlie." she said stubbornly.

She heard him sigh, and then say something in a muffled voice to someone else. He must have put his hand over the phone. A moment later, he was back.

"At least tell me where you're at."

"Hold on." Olivia looked over at the shoulder for the next mile marker. "I'm uh…I'm at mile marker twenty-seven on I-95." she said after a moment. "A couple miles south of Route 2." She wondered idly if Walter hand been found near where she was now.

"We're about fifteen minutes behind you, Liv." he replied. "Wait for us before you go in."

"Bye Charlie." she said, pushing the end call button, and tossing the phone back on the seat.

Backup was on the way. Though she was sure that whatever was going to happen, it would be over with by the time they arrived._ Hold on, Peter._ She said to herself, focusing on the road in front of her. He was going to be okay. No other ending was acceptable.

* * *

**Peter **groaned as the car changed direction suddenly, and his inertia slid him head first into the metal paneling of the trunk's interior. There was a loud thump, as the car dipped into a pothole, then slammed upwards throwing him into the underside of the trunk hatch, smashing his face and chest. He tried to straighten his legs out, to brace himself somewhat for the next impact, but he couldn't quite manage it. No matter how he twisted, he was just too tall to stretch out fully. The divot where the spare tire should have been wasn't helping matters either, as he'd already had to flop himself out of it on several occasions. The smells of gasoline and exhaust fumes were faint, but always present. He had already begun to feel a bit light-headed before the road conditions had taken the current unpleasant turn for the worse, and he was not feeling any better as time passed.

It had been a smooth ride for a while, and he'd guessed them to be on a highway from the regular noise of the tires moving over the expansion joints in the concrete. He estimated their driving time to have been about forty minutes, before the car had slowed, his captor obviously turning onto some back road from the rough going it had been after that. With all the jostling since then, he'd given up on trying to keep their driving time straight in his head. He supposed it didn't really matter, anyway. Not long after the trunk lid had closed, he'd of thought of his cell phone, and had felt at his pockets, hoping to find it there. Unfortunately, either the man had taken it, or he'd dropped it back at the lab when he'd been shot by the man's pulse rifle, as he'd taken to calling it. It was as good a name as any in his book.

There was soft red glow, cast from the imperfectly sealed backside of the tail lights, which illuminated the trunks interior just enough to let him examine the locking mechanism holding the hatch in place. He'd been doing just that when the car had started tossing him about. He felt the car slow down, and then a gentle bump and the trunk tilted to the left as the car made sharp right turn onto a gravel road and accelerated. The sound of many small pebbles thrown up by the rear wheels and bouncing off the undercarriage filled the trunk, drowning out all other noises.

They had to be getting close to their destination. Walter couldn't have gone too far off the highway with the cylinder, if this was indeed the place he taken it all. The gravel surface was more forgiving than the pothole covered road they were on before, and he was able to resume his examination of the trunk latch. With a grunt of pain, he tucked his legs up tight behind him, trying to make himself smaller, and then slithered to one side so that he could maneuver his head into a place where he could look up in between the metal framing on either side of the lock. In the red light, he could just make it out, and he tried to get the fingers of one hand in a position where he thought he might be able to push the locking mechanism off of the hook of the latch. After several tries, and a cut fingertip, he twisted onto his back, staring up at the underside of the trunk latch breathing hard. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes with the back of one of his bound hands, feeling rather useless.

"Fuck!" Peter shouted out load over the roar of the flying gravel. Even if his hands weren't zip-tied together, he didn't think he had the finger strength to push the latch free. His plan had been to push the trunk hatch up, and when the car stopped, jump out and run his ass off. Maybe could have gotten out range of his captor's zap gun. It wasn't really much of a plan, but it was the best he could come up with on short notice. Now, even that was denied to him, as little chance as it had at succeeding.

He was falling into the divot again, his back protesting at the odd curvature. He squirmed out of it, and then tried to push away from it awkwardly with both hands. As he tried to get situated, the car slowed to a stop, and the engine shut off. They had arrived. Relaxing onto his back, he patiently awaited his fate. He was too late.

The car dipped momentarily as his abductor opened the door and got out. Crunchy footsteps approached, kicking gravel as they went, and then stopped outside the trunk. There was a jingle of keys, and then the trunk opened with loud click. The hatch was lifted and he was met with the blinding glare of the flashlight in his face. He winced, looking away from it, but the man kept it directed on his eyes.

"We're here." the man said. "Come with me."

Peter said nothing has he grabbed the edge of trunk above the tail lights and pulled himself upright. It was much harder than it should have been, and he was breathing hard by the time he managed to extricate himself from the trunk. A small shovel was thrust into his hands.

The gravel road they'd been traveling on ended with a small parking area in front of a low wooden fence. There was an opening in the fence a little way down from where they were parked, but the man ignored it, directing him toward the line of fence directly in front of them. Peter moved toward it, trying to see past the line of trees on the other side. In the dim light of the moon, he couldn't make out anything except for more trees. His body ached from his torture and the cramped ride in the trunk, and he hoped they didn't have far to go. He wasn't sure he could make it without collapsing first.

When he reached the fence, he swung a leg over, followed by the other, and then pulled the shovel over after him. He heard a grunt behind him as his captor followed suit, and then flashlight beam was at his feet, showing him the way through the tall weeds. He'd thought they were in a random forest, until he saw the first headstone, and realized that it was in fact an overgrown cemetery. How had Walter managed to bring the cylinder this far out from the city? Peter had to admit that he was a little impressed with his father's ingenuity.

The man seemed to know where they were heading, as he guided Peter with the beam of the flashlight among the rows of tombstones. The light would linger on one occasionally, but the names on them were meaningless to him, until they finally stopped at the end of a row. The flashlight paused on the headstone there, and Peter leaned closer, squinting at the lines of text inscribed on it.

Robert Bishop  
Aug. 21, 1912-  
Dec. 11, 1944

His grandfather? Peter glanced confusedly at his captor.

"It's a shame you never met him." the man commented casually, giving him an odd look.

Peter stared at him, panting slightly through his discomfort. The man appeared to less than ten years older than himself. He thought his grandfather had died a young man, not long after Walter was born. Peter had obviously never known him, and neither had the other man. Still, something about the dates on the tombstone didn't add up with him, but he was too dazed to figure it out in his present condition.

The man walked around the grave site, shining the flashlight on the ground in front of him and holding his weapon in his other hand. After a moment he stopped, off to one side from the headstone. The dirt there was freshly overturned. He looked up at Peter.

"C'mon." he said, gesturing with the flashlight. "Dig."

Peter moved slowly over to the fresh dirt, and set the shovel upright in the soft soil, gripping the handle awkwardly with his bound hands. Looking over at his abductor, he pushed the blade into the soft soil with a stomp of his foot.

"Careful." the man warned in deadly voice, hefting his weapon in Peter's direction.

He nodded glumly, and resumed his digging, a bit more cautiously this time. After a few minutes, he struck something solid, and then stopped at a command from the other man.

"Move back and drop the shovel." he said. "Over there." He pointed the flashlight toward his grandfather's tombstone.

Peter moved away from the hole, and lounged back against the low gravestone, watching as the man set his gun and the flashlight down next to him, and then reached into the hole. He pulled out an old backpack, probably Walter's, and opened it. The man's eyes grew wide as he reached in with both hands and lifted out the cylinder, the light of the flashlight reflecting off its smooth surface. The blue lights seemed to be out at the moment, for whatever reason. If Walter knew what they were, he'd never told him.

All of a sudden there was a loud snap of a stick breaking nearby, as if it had been stepped on. The man lurched to his feet, holding the cylinder under one arm and grabbing the gun with his free hand. He pointed it at Peter's head momentarily, then without warning turned and fled deeper into the cemetery.

Peter exhaled loudly, his chin falling onto his chest. He'd thought for sure he was dead, right up until the moment the man had turned and ran. Spying the shovel on the ground, he lunged forward, dropping down on top of it. Holding it in place with his knees, he began sawing at the blade with the zip-tie around his wrist. At the sound of footsteps approaching he looked up, and caught a flash of golden hair slipping between the trees.

_It was Olivia!_ He'd never been so glad to see anyone in his entire life. The relief that poured into him then was like a shot of adrenaline, and he redoubled his efforts to free his hands. He thought it might be good time to announce himself, before she shot him on accident.

.

**Olivia** turned her suv on to a narrow gravel road. According the directions she'd been given, the road ended at the cemetery entrance, less than a mile away. She turned off the lightbar and drove quickly, but carefully down the lane. As she neared what she thought was the end, she slowed down, and flipped the headlights off as well. The white gravel reflected the moonlight in a faint glow, easily bright enough for her to navigate safely.

Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes, leaning forward against the steering wheel as a shape began emerge ahead of her in the darkness. It was a car, a very old car, from the looks of it as she pulled up beside it. Shutting the engine off, Olivia gently closed the door behind her, and then pulled her pistol from its holster at her waist, along with her flashlight. She quickly checked out the old cars interior as she moved past, but it was empty.

Looking around at the line of trees, she was unsure which way to go, until she noticed a faint light through the tree branches on the other side of a low wooden fence. Rushing toward it, she hopped the fence, holding her pistol out before her, aimed down slightly at the ground. She kept the beam of the flashlight pointed downward also, not wanting to alert the killer of her presence too soon as she slipped quietly among the gravestones and the occasional clump of trees.

The light source grew brighter as she honed in on its position, listening carefully for any voices along the way. Olivia was moving through a particularly dense patch of weeds, when her foot came down a tree branch, lying across her path. Before she could stop herself, her foot completed the movement, and there was a loud _CRACK!_ as the stick broke in two.

"Shit!" she muttered silently to herself. If whoever was out there didn't know she was there before, they certainly did now.

The light was just ahead of her now, about twenty feet away, on the other side of a group of trees. She moved forward cautiously, holding the gun out before her, parallel to the ground.

"Hey 'Livia!" a voice suddenly called out. It was Peter! "Over here!"

Raising her flashlight she moved forward faster, the sound his voice drawing her like a magnet. She rounded the edge of the trees and saw him there, his back to her as he crouched over something on the ground. There was a hole, and small pile of dirt sitting next to him.

Peter looked over at her as she approached, and she nearly gasped at the sight of him, but just managed to keep it inside. His face was a mass bruises, particularly his nose, which was extremely swollen up to the bridge between his eyebrows. His upper lip was split, severely swollen also. And the blood, it was everywhere, covering most of his face and running in streaks down his neck and into his shirt. _Jesus! What did they do to you?_ Olivia fought off an almost irresistible urge to rush forward and take his head in her arms as she moved closer.

"Are you okay?" she managed say, trying not to sound too affected as she came to a stop, crouching down beside him. He was attempting to cut through a zip-tie around his wrists with the edge of a shovel blade.

"Yeah…" He flashed her one of his toothy grins, and she tried not to stare at his blood covered teeth. He nodded his head the other way, deeper into the cemetery. "He went that way. He's got the cylinder! You can catch him if you go now!" His voice was urgent.

Olivia nodded, seeing that he was mostly okay. She still had a job to do. Stepping past him, she moved in the direction he'd indicated.

"'Livia!" Peter called from behind her. "He's got some kind of gun!"

Olivia looked back at him and nodded again, then rushed forward into the inky blackness of the cemetery. Putting her flashlight away she ran on instinct, her weapon gripped in both hands before her as she raced through the darkness, dodging around trees and tombstones alike. The cemetery was not a large one, and soon the tombstones disappeared and she was racing through trees and underbrush, her footsteps sounding horribly loud in her ears. She stopped suddenly, and crouched down next to a wide tree trunk, listening for any movement ahead of her.

It was there! Off to her right was the crackling of something forcing its way through the thick undergrowth. She sprinted in the general direction of the sound, ducking under low hanging tree branches and then racing down a gentle slope as the moon suddenly broke though the forest canopy. Ahead of her in the dim light, she saw movement just at the top of the next rise. It was a man wearing a stocking hat! He disappeared over the next hilltop and she sped after him, crashing through a wall of young trees, their thin trunks bending as she shoved them aside.

Rounding the top of the hill, she heard a strange pulsing sound, and then a concussive blast struck a tree directly in front of her. There was a shower of sparks, and she felt the impact of it through the soles of her boots as a number of tree branches fell down from high above, showering her with leaves and debris.

_What the hell was that!_ She peered around the tree trunk, just in time to see the man's coat flying out behind him as he fled. He was carrying a large object curled under one arm. It was the cylinder!

Stepping around the tree, she took aim at his back, squeezing off two shots in quick succession. The distance was far for a pistol shot, and the man kept running. He raced down into a narrow cut in the terrain and disappeared from sight.

Olivia resumed her pursuit, but at the last moment took the higher ground instead of following him down the narrow gully he'd disappeared into. _Always take the high ground, marine!_ A drill sergeant's voice rang out in back of her mind as padded up the incline. She'd hated that bastard, but she remembered her training. The going was a bit slower, but when she cleared the top of the slope, there were few trees to block her view. She sprinted forward toward a drop off that gave her a clear view of the area. Looking to her left, she saw what must be the other end of the narrow cut her suspect and fled into. Scanning her vision to the right from that point, she saw that the gully led into a shallow basin, a wide area filled with broken tree limbs and piles of brush and debris, no doubt left behind from the last major rainstorm they'd had. Stepping to her right slowly, she continued her surveillance of the basin, when movement straight in front of her caught her attention.

It was him.

He was hurrying through the debris, his progress slowed by his awkward burden. He kept glancing back at the exit from the gully, completely unaware of the flanking position she had on him.

"Freeze! FBI!" she shouted, holding him squarely in her gun sights.

The man spun, attempting to bring his weapon to bear on her, and she fired once, holding her breath as she'd been taught. There was no thinking, just doing. The man took a hit in the shoulder, spinning him around. The cylinder fell from his arms as he pitched to one side and fell down. He quickly pulled himself behind a rotted out log and then swung his weapon in her direction, firing another blast which impacted harmlessly against the ledge, showering dirt in all directions.

She saw him get up and try to flee through the cloud of smoke and dust left behind from his shot. I_'ve got the high ground, you asshole_, she thought, rushing back to the edge of the drop off. She took aim, and squeezed the trigger twice, zeroing in on his head. Her thoughts went to her old friend Henry Jacobson and her new friend Peter as the man collapsed in a heap.

Olivia dropped the short distance down into the basin, and moved toward the body, still keeping her gun on him. She moved past the cylinder where it lay on its side atop a mound dirt and approached the still form sprawled face down, unmoving. There were two bloodstains on his back, rapidly increasing in diameter as she stood over him, and a river of blood flowing out from under his stocking hat that had already started to pool underneath him. In his right hand was a weapon unlike any she'd ever seen before. It looked like something out a science fiction movie. She kicked it away from his outstretched fingers, then nudged the man over onto his back with toe of her boot. He was dead.

Crouching down next to the body, she reached for the inside pocket of his coat. Maybe she'd get lucky and he'd have his ID on him. The pocket was empty and as she went for his other pockets, she was struck by the expression on his face. He almost looked happy, like he was at peace. It was disturbing.

There was sudden whirring sound from behind her, loud and high pitched, and then an explosion rocked the clearing, sending dry leaves flying. She flinched, covering her head with her hands as she spun on one knee toward the source of the noise. There was a bright light where the cylinder had been lying on its side. She jumped up and moved toward the light, which was starting to fade. She heard a low rumble that rattled the piles of debris and could feel the ground shaking under her feet. The rumble was fading at the same rate as the light source. Moving closer, she arrived at the spot as the light dimmed completely and the rumble faded away and was gone. All that remained was hole in the ground, a perfect circle, like it had been drilled out. Wisps of smoke drifted out of the hole, leaving a burnt smell in the air, until they too disappeared.

Running a hand through her hair, Olivia looked around, thinking about how crazy her world had become since meeting Walter Bishop. _So much has happened here, and so much is about to._ Walter had said that. She'd thought him insane at the time, and hadn't thought much of it. But now...he'd known something about the cylinder, known that someone would come for it. Hell, he knew the Observer. What did that mean? And what would she do with him once Peter left?

Moving away from the hole, she trotted back toward the corpse of the killer.

* * *

**Peter** had just finished cutting through the zip-tie when he heard the strange discharge of his abductor's pulse rifle in the distance, followed almost immediately by the sound of an explosion. He froze, his eyes going wide until he heard Olivia return fire, with two gunshots echoing through the cemetery in the darkness, and he let out the breath he'd been holding. He got to his feet and hurried in the direction of the firefight. The thought that he could be shot on accident crossed his mind, but he ignored the warning. She might need his help.

Running as best he could through the underbrush, his body complained regularly at his treatment of it and he nearly fell on his face as the terrain unexpectedly sloped downwards. Catching himself against a tree trunk, he rested for a moment, his breath coming out in painful wheezes. He figured it was going to be awhile before he would be moving without hurting again. Other than the regular chirping of crickets, the forest was silent as resumed his progress in the direction he thought the gunshots had come from, though it was difficult to tell in the darkness whether he was still on track or not.

The sudden of sound of Olivia shouting from close by, followed by a gunshot, forced him to a crouch. Rushing forward blindly at this point was likely to get him killed, or her, if he distracted her. The forest shook as the gunman returned fire, and he saw a flash of light coming from over the top of a nearby hill. A moment later two more gunshots rang out, and then all was still.

He waited for a full minute before rising from his crouch, and moving toward the hill that he'd seen the light over. As he cleared the rise, he heard an explosion, then a high-pitched whining sound, and then the ground began to shake. Crouching down again, he looked around wildly in the darkness, wondering what the hell was going on. An earthquake in Massachusetts? Surely not. He spotted a shaft of light, shooting up in the darkness from a clearing beyond a tree line not far ahead of him. The light began to dim almost as soon as it appeared, and the rumble dwindled down to a faint tremor, before disappearing all together, along with the strange light.

Peter stared at the spot the light had come from through a gap in the trees, and saw a figure approach hesitantly from the other direction. It was Olivia. She stood staring down at something on the ground for a moment, before looking up and running her hands through her golden hair. He was about to shout out to her when he heard a man's voice in the darkness nearby.

"Departure on schedule."

He pivoted silently in his crouch, turning toward the voice. There was a man standing there, less than ten feet away from him, staring through the trees at Olivia as she turned and loped away from them across the clearing.

_Where the hell did he come from?_ Peter was sure he hadn't been there a moment ago. The man's back was to him, but he knew who he was at once. He was wearing a dark suit and a fedora hat. It was the bald guy he'd seen in the pictures Olivia had shown him! The one his father had supposedly spoken to. The man had been speaking into a cell phone, which he clicked shut and put in his pocket.

The man had answers, and Peter was going to get them.

Rising from his crouch, he rushed toward the man, driving his shoulder into his back, and knocking them both to the ground. Peter rolled away from him, and scrambled to his feet, noticing with some shock that other man was already back on his feet by the time he was upright again. The man's hat was missing, and his bald head was plainly visible in the moonlight. He had no eyebrows.

"Who the hell are you?" Peter gasped, breathing hard and taking a step toward him.

The bald man stared at him expressionlessly, tilting his head in an odd manner.

"What is the cylinder?"

The bald man narrowed his eyes at the question, watching Peter closely. His head tilted further.

"You _You_ know _know_ what _what_ it _it_ is, _is,_ don't _don't_ you? _you?_"

Peter blinked as the bald man spoke his own words back to him, simultaneously.

"Why _Why_ is _is_ it _it_ here? _here?_ Why _Why_ now? _now?_"

The bald man echoed his words simultaneously again, proving it had been no fluke the first time. The effect of it, indeed the whole unreality of the situation, was beginning to make Peter feel dizzy, and he swayed on feet.

"Who _Who_ are _are_ you? _you?_" Peter gasped and the bald man said together after a moment.

The bald man's head tilted to other side, his face taking on a curious aspect. His head movement reminded Peter of something, an animal maybe, but he couldn't think of what kind. All he could think of was that the man seemed to be reading his fucking mind! Mind reading in his world was impossible, or it had been until earlier that night, when a machine had seemed to do it. The bald man seemed to be doing it now without a machine. Inspiration struck him then, a way to test it.

"Apples, _Apples,_ bananas, _bananas,_ rhinoceros! _rhinoceros!_"

"I _I_ want _want_ to _to_ hold _hold_ your _your_ hand! _hand!_"

"_Lucy_ Lucy _in_ in _the_ the _sky_ sky _with_ with _diamonds!_ diamonds!"

Peter stared stupidly at the bald man, his head shaking left and right in denial of it all. This shit couldn't be happening, it just couldn't. He opened his mouth to ask about his father when the bald man preempted him.

"Do you really know my father?" the bald man said, taking the words right out of his mouth. "Did you talk to him this afternoon?" The man's bald head shifted again, his eyebrowless eyes tightening on Peter's face. "Are you his friend?" he asked curiously.

The world seemed to tilt as the man spoke the questions he intended to ask, before he even knew he was going to ask them. He felt like he was in a dream as they stared at each other wordlessly for a moment in the dim light. Then the bald man pulled a pistol from his pocket, and pointed it Peter's chest.

_Not again_, Peter thought dully, as the man pulled the trigger.

There was winding sound, like a turbine engine shutting down, and then a fist hit him in chest, knocking the wind out of him. He collapsed, falling onto his back hard on the dirt. He tried to stay conscious as he stared up at the stars through tree tops, but they winked out a moment later.

* * *

**Olivia** ended the phone call just as she finished searching through the killers clothing, finding nothing, no wallet, no ID at all. Charlie and the rest of the agents Broyles had assembled were just now pulling up to the cemetery. Pushing off her knees, she got to her feet and left the body and the strange weapon where they lay. They were both were someone else's problem now.

Returning to the ledge she'd jumped down from earlier, she climbed back up it, using a thick root as a foothold. When she was at the top she started retracing her steps, heading back toward the cemetery and to Peter. Hopefully he'd managed to free himself in the time she'd been gone. She intended to take him to a hospital immediately.

She hadn't gone far when she spotted him, leaning against a tree, watching her approach. He was holding a hand against his chest like he was in pain, his head bobbing as he took in huge gasps of air. She took a few more steps toward him then stopped, as they gazed at each other in silence. His bruised and battered face was intense, eyes wide, like he'd had an epiphany. After a moment she smiled at him hesitantly.

"You okay?" she asked, swallowing down the guilt she felt at his condition. At least he was alive.

Peter pushed off the tree for second, then grimaced, and thought better of it, leaning back against the tree on his forearm. "I am now." he said, exhaling a long breath. Their eyes met again, and he grinned broadly, exposing his teeth. "What took you so long? You're losing your touch, Dunham."

Olivia found herself grinning in return. Whatever had been done to him, it hadn't broken his spirit. The source of his unending humor remained untainted.

"Well, there's only so many fires I can put out at once." she said, stepping closer to him. "Between you and your father…" she tossed her hands out in mock despair. "You've got me all booked up."

Peter laughed, and then pushed off the tree again. He swayed for moment, then steadied himself. "What happened to him?" he said, nodding back toward the clearing.

"He's dead." Olivia replied, watching his reaction to the news closely.

He looked down at his feet, letting out a long sigh. "Good." he said finally, the relief in his voice plain as day.

She wanted to ask him about what had happened, what the man had done to him, but now was not the time. He needed to get to a hospital. From the way he was holding his chest, he must have other injuries out of sight. She heard voices coming from the direction of the cemetery. Peter had heard also, as he looked toward them.

"C'mon." she said, "Let's head back."

Peter nodded, and trudged slowly in that direction. He appeared to be in a significant amount of pain from the way he gingerly took every step.

Olivia stepped beside him. "Gimme your arm." she said, looking up him.

He looked at her sharply, clearly not understanding her intentions. "What?"

Olivia rolled her eyes at his obtuseness. "Your arm, Peter. Give it to me." she said, grabbing his right arm and curling it over her shoulder. She tucked her left arm around his waist, and pressed in close, taking some his weight on her shoulders. He smelled of sweat and old blood, but none of that mattered. "You're hurt…let me help you."

She felt him tense up for a moment, before he relaxed and nodded, giving her a weak smile. They moved together through the darkness of the forest, heading back toward the cemetery, with no further words spoken between them. None were needed.

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**Here's the fifth part of 1x04. I hope its up to par. One more chapter to go! Thanks for reading!**


	33. Chapter 32 - End 1x04

**Chapter 32**

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**-Outskirts of Boston, Ma**

**Peter **leaned back against the headrest, staring out through the bluish-green reflection of the dashboard in the passenger window, not really seeing anything beyond. It was just a place for his gaze to rest. He was tired, exhausted really, his eyelids heavy with the weight of the day's events. The ache in his chest had grown acute, a stabbing pinprick that erupted with fire at the slightest imperfection in the road's surface, transmitted up perfectly through the vehicle's suspension and straight to his seatback.

He groaned at a rough bounce, the seatbelt strap digging into his chest. He thought he recognized that particular pothole from his time in the trunk.

"You okay over there, Bishop?" Agent Charlie Francis said to him from the driver's seat, keeping his eyes on the treacherous pavement ahead in the suv's headlights.

Peter glanced over at the dark-haired agent, feeling a bit surprised by the hint of concern in the dark-haired agent's voice. "Yeah...I'm just peachy." he replied, turning back to the window.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Peter turned back to the other man, assessing the seriousness of the question. Charlie's face was nonchalant, as if he didn't care either way. Did he want to talk about it?

_Fuck no, I don't want to talk about it...no offense to you Charlie. _

"Uh no...not really."

Charlie glanced at him then, their eyes meeting in the glow of the digital displays. He nodded after a brief moment and turned his attention back to the road. Peter thought they were done talking when he spoke again.

"Just make sure you do, sometime." he said pointedly, shooting another glance in his direction as they turned off the bumpy road and onto one that looked like it had been paved recently. "I don't mean me, or even Liv...just somebody."

Peter stared at his profile, somewhat shocked at the words of wisdom from the normally gruff Charlie Francis. Who knew the man had it in him? He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, Olivia was fond of him after all. There must be more to him than the whole big brother act he put on. Still, he wasn't ready to talk about what had happened to him, to anyone. He wasn't ready to even think about it yet. It was still too fresh. It seemed unreal, like it had happened to someone else. His fingers found their way to his swollen nose, and he swallowed uneasily at the unfamiliar feel of it. The memory started to surface, of the wires, and the pain, and he quickly forced his thoughts to a more pleasant direction.

"Let me ask you something." Peter said, thinking of Olivia. "What happened back there? Broyles didn't seem too happy with her...Olivia, I mean. Is she in trouble?"

Charlie grunted and shook his head, not replying immediately. "Trouble? I wouldn't call it that, exactly. Though if the end result had been different..." he said after a moment, then shrugged. "She and Broyles had a...difference of opinion."

"About what?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Broyles told her to wait for a team to be assembled." he explained, the corner of his lips turned upward as he spoke. "Liv...she didn't really feel like waiting, I guess. She can be a bit uhh..." His finger twirled as he groped for the word was looking for.

"Stubborn?" Peter offered, looking over at the agent with a grin.

Charlie snorted a laugh and nodded. "Yeah. So you've noticed?" he said, giving him a sideways glance.

"You could say that." he said, noticing a road sign informing him that they were on Route 2. So they were west of the city. He relaxed back in the seat, shutting his eyes, hoping the other man would take the hint.

Peter had learned that Olivia was stubborn about two minutes after meeting her, back in Iraq. He smiled inwardly at the memory of how she'd outwitted him at every turn those first few days. So she had ignored direct orders to save his ass, even after he'd told her that he was done with her and Fringe Division.

He thought about their trek back to the cemetery, after his confrontation with the bald man, and hers with his torturer. She'd killed the bastard, much to his relief. They had been moving toward a halo of light they'd seen through the trees, which had turned out to be agents with flashlights, standing at the site of his grandfather's grave. Broyles had been there, barking out orders, and thinking it might be awkward for them both, he had tried pull away from her. Olivia's grip on his wrist had tightened and...

_...She yanked his arm firmly back into place around her shoulder, looking up at him with what he assumed was a glare. It was difficult to see her face clearly in the night. He shook his head, grinning at her stubbornness. As much has hated to admit it, he would still be back in the forest without her assistance. Her slight frame was much stronger than he would have given her credit for._

_Before the events of the day, his heart rate would have been skyrocketing at the mere thought of Olivia Dunham being as close to him as she was at that moment. But now...it was merely a blip on his radar. That wasn't to say he was indifferent, because he surely was not. He would no doubt replay the feel of her next to him, once he'd stopped reeling from the shock of everything that had happened to him that day, from Walter, to his abduction and the torture machine, and finally to the bald man._

_He was convinced that his mind had been read, not once, but twice, in the same day. Mind reading was impossible. It was the same conundrum he'd been struggling with ever since he'd woken up on the forest floor after being shot in the chest by the bald man. The fact that he'd been tortured, had wires shoved up his nose, electrocuting him from the inside out, his will to resist broken... He'd been prepared to die._

_He shivered uncontrollably, letting out a shaky breath._

_"What's wrong? Peter?"_

_Olivia's low voice drew him back to the present. He realized he'd just been standing there, staring blankly out into the darkness. The despair he'd felt strapped to the table had been threatening to return._

_He swallowed and looked down at her. "Nothing." he lied, putting on his fake smile. "You ready to go greet the cavalry?"_

_Olivia looked up at him silently, then nodded. "Let's go."_

_They moved forward into the light, much to the surprise of the late arriving backup, who were shining their lights around the cemetery, probably looking for them. The nearest agent to them turned at their approach, his eyebrows nearly rising up to his hairline as he took in Peter's condition._

"_Damn, Bishop." Charlie Francis said, looking impressed. "You get mauled by a bear?" He stepped toward. "Here, let me help, Liv." he said to Olivia, trying to relieve her of of her burden._

"_I got him, Charlie." Olivia replied, shaking her head. "I'm taking him to a hospital." Peter could feel her grip on his wrist tightening again she spoke._

_Agent Broyles stepped into the circle of lights, wearing his typical tan trenchcoat. He looked over the two of them silently, his expression wooden as he took in Peter's condition. His gaze dropped to the arm around Olivia's shoulder, and then to the hand at Peter's waist, and his eyes narrowed slightly._

"_Good to see you in one piece, Peter." Broyles said, his voice lacking the anger from the last time they'd spoken back in the lab, after Walter's disappearance. "What happened out here tonight?"_

"_You can debrief us later, sir." Olivia said impatiently. "He's hurt. I'm taking him to the hospital."_

_Peter shook his head. "I'm okay, really." he said to their superior, "It looks worse than it is."_

"_Really?" Olivia replied sarcastically, cocking an eyebrow at him. "You can barely walk, Peter."_

_Broyles eyes shifted between them, his lips thinned as if he didn't like what he was seeing. "Agent Francis," he said, looking over at Charlie. "Take Mr. Bishop to Boston General." He turned to Olivia, his eyes hard. "Dunham, you stay and walk us through the scene." _

"_Sir, I was planning on-" Olivia started, her grip on his wrist tightening further, until it was almost painful._

_Agent Broyles silenced her with a look. "It's gonna have to wait. I need you here." His tone left no room for argument._

_Olivia went rigid for a brief moment, and he thought he thought she might protest further. Then she relaxed and nodded, and he felt the tension ebb away from her. "I'll see you at the hospital when I'm done here." she said looking up at him. _

_Peter nodded, and she slipped out from under his arm and moved away without another look in his direction. He felt the loss of her support immediately, and swayed on his feet. Agent Francis moved to his side, grabbing his arm in the same fashion she had been._

"_C'mon, Bishop." he said. "Let's go..."_

Peter felt the suv shift underneath him, and opened his eyes to see the familiar sight of an on-ramp to I-95. They were turning south. He let his eyelids flutter shut again, and his thoughts drifted to what he'd been about to do before his encounter with the man in the lab. He'd been about to walk out of her life, for forever, if he'd had his way.

And she'd still come for him, alone, refusing to wait for backup.

Olivia had saved his life, there was no denying it. No one had ever saved his life before, it left an intense feeling of indebtedness behind. He owed her, and the debt was nothing less than his continued existence. How does one repay a debt like that? By running out on her again? It made the debt he owed to Big Eddie seem like a pale, insignificant thing. Indeed, all of the things he'd been so worried about before, his reasons for leaving in the first place, they all seemed insignificant in the light of what had happened to him. Olivia could take care of herself, surely she'd just proven that to him, if it had even needed proving.

Everything seemed much clearer to Peter now than it had before, like a veil had been lifted from his eyes. The man who had abducted him, and his subsequent torture by way of an apparent mind reading machine, had started lifting it away. The bald man, and their confrontation in the forest had ripped it away entirely. The mind reading torture machine, he could rationalize its existence...somewhat, even though he hadn't known where the cylinder was consciously. It was technology, and it somehow was able to...interpret his brainwaves or something to that effect. He'd never heard a hint of anything like that existing yet, but it was something his mind could accept might be possible. The brain was a computer after all, just an organic one. But the bald guy...he had somehow known what he was going to ask before he had even formulated the questions! Just by looking at him. How was that possible? Was he prescient as well as a mind reader? And the man knew his father. Walter was right in the middle of whatever was happening.

Peter felt a burning need to know exactly what that was. These things that Olivia had recruited him and his father to help her investigate, they were so much more than what he'd thought. He'd been wrong, whatever was occurring, it was more important than any excuse he could come up with to leave, much more important. The memory of the bald man mirroring his words, and the strange unreality he'd felt as what he'd believe to be possible and impossible was systematically dismantled...he couldn't go back to the way he'd been before that moment.

The debt he owed Olivia alone, should have been enough reason for him to stay as long she required, but after the paradigm shift he'd endured, he no longer felt any real desire to leave. They were at the center of something huge, potentially world changing. How could he not want to be a part of it, given the chance?

And like that, the decision to stay was already in his rearview mirror. He couldn't leave, not until he learned what this was all about, and maybe not ever. For the first time in many years, moving on felt like it would be the wrong thing to do.

Opening his eyes, he saw that they were still on I-95, heading south. Charlie was gripping the wheel with one hand, and talking to someone softly on his cell phone. From the endearments he overheard, it was probably his wife. Having come to the conclusion that he was staying, Peter let the exhaustion that he'd been fighting struggling with overwhelm him, and promptly fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Walter **stared around the small room he'd been sitting in since Agent Dunham had left, what seemed like hours ago. He hoped she returned soon, the intense pressure he was feeling in his bladder was beginning to make him very uncomfortable.

The door had opened three times in the span since her departure; he knew this from the three empty plastic cups sitting on the table in front of him. Three different humans had entered, two women and one man, each bringing their own liquid torment which he'd been unable to resist, and was now suffering for it. To take his mind off the unpleasant sensation, he examined the three paper cups on the table.

They were identical, with green and blue alternating rings encircling the cup's diameter. In the middle of two rings was a gap, which was occupied by blue and purple squiggly lines, like filigree, which also spanned the circumference of each cup. They were identical. An idea began to form.

He spied a napkin also sitting on the table, which had been brought in thoughtfully with one of the cups. Reaching for it, he folded it in half six times, forgoing a seventh fold, as he knew a seventh fold would be impossible. He knew this for a fact, as he had tested it before, back in 1983, the experiment triggered by a curious question from a young Peter.

His hands shook slightly at the thought of Peter as a boy, and now as a man. He'd been taken. _Abducted._ Walter's mind began to coalesce on the word, and shiver of terror ran down his spine. He had nearly lost Peter once before…in the ice. His heart started pounding as memories began to unfold, like clips from one of the old silent films. He gasped as the words his bald friend had said, so long ago, came back to him. Peter had to live! His bald friend had said so!

Walter looked down at his left hand, where his thumb and forefinger were rubbing together furiously. He clenched his fists, squeezing his fingers tight, and then let them relax. He exhaled a long breath, swallowing his fear. Peter would be fine, Agent Dunham would take care of him.

Returning to the task at hand, he placed the folded paper on the table in front of him. He picked up the cups, examining them closely again, looking for any imperfections which would make any one of them stand out. They were identical, as he'd already surmised. He placed one of them over the folded napkin, upside down, and then upended the other two, moving them all into a row. Closing his eyes, he quickly shifted the cups' positions, sliding them all back and forth between his hands until he had lost the location of the cup with the folded napkin inside. With that accomplished, he opened his eyes, the conditions for the experiment set. Now he just had to make an educated guess at the napkins current location.

_The napkin exists in all three cups, simultaneously entangled in a superpositional set of probabilities, Walter_. Belly said to him, speaking in his lecturing tone. _Only under direct observation will they collapse into a single set, and the location of the napkin reveal itself._

"Bah, Schrödinger again. You were always obsessed with that man." Walter muttered, studying the cups closely. "It is only underneath the one _I_ placed it under. The Conservation of Mass, remember that old law, Belly?"

Belly laughed in approval. _That old law is not quite set in stone, my old friend._ _The additional mass exists in alternate realities, which were created the moment you lost the location of the napkin._

_As you well know._ Walter that was chimed in darkly, making his first comment on the thought experiment.

Walter shivered, not enjoying the feeling of displacement that ran through him. He didn't care for the turn the conversation had taken. He quickly lifted all the cups, locating the missing napkin, and then tossed it toward a trash receptacle sitting in a corner of the small room. It fell short and came to a rest on the tiled floor.

Belly made no additional comments as Walter idly began to rearrange the cups again, sliding them around in a figure eight pattern with one hand, and leaning with his chin on the other. The conversation with Belly reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He thought it might have something to do with his bald friend. He was still pondering it when the door opened.

He looked up, hoping to see Agent Dunham, or maybe even Peter, but it was neither. It was another agent, a man. The one who always looked angry. Walter had seen him before. Had he seen him at the lab? What had his name been? Agent Frank? Fred? He settled on Frank. There were no cups in his hand as he held the door open. Perhaps there was news, finally.

"Peter?" he said, sitting upright in his chair, the cups forgotten. "Is he alright? Have you heard anything?"

"He's fine." The dark-haired agent said, putting his hands in pockets. "He has a mild concussion, some bruised ribs, but he's gonna be fine."

"Thank you," Walter said with a sigh, enjoying the rush of endorphins released by his pituitary gland. "That's wonderful news."

"C'mon," he said, motioning toward the doorway. "I'm gonna take you back to your hotel."

"If you don't mind, Agent Frank," Walter said, rising from his chair. There's something I'd like to do first."

"It's Francis." Agent Frank said.

Walter looked around the room. "Where?" he asked, not seeing anyone else present. Was the man daft?

"Me."

"What?"

"I'm Agent Francis."

"Oh." Walter giggled, and nodded his head. That was right. Francis. He held out his hand and introduced himself. "I'm Dr. Walter Bishop."

Agent Francis stared at his hand, then shrugged and gave it firm shake. Walter approved.

"Now what did you want to do, Dr. Bishop?" he asked as they left the room together.

Walter swallowed nervously, "Do you happen to know the young lady that works in my lab, on occasion?" He rubbed his hands together, palm to knuckles, a nervous tick he'd picked up at some point in the _that place_, and had been unable stop himself from doing it as of yet.

Agent Francis was silent for a moment, observing him carefully. "You mean Agent Farnsworth."

Walter detected a hint of warning in the man's tone, and couldn't blame him for it. What he had done to the young woman was an inexcusable breach of trust. "Yes…yes. I would really like to speak with her if…if that's possible." he said. "To try…to…to explain my actions."

The younger man hesitated, then nodded. "I think she's still at her desk," he said. "but if she doesn't want to talk to you, we're leaving."

"Of course." Walter said, bobbing his head.

Agent Francis led him to an office area, filled with desks and cubicles and Walter saw that Agent Farnsworth was indeed still sitting at one of them. She was bent over her desk, writing something down on a piece of paper. She looked busy, and there were too many strangers around, maybe he could talk to her later, in the comfort of his lab. He started to turn away, but other man stopped him with a look.

"Go on." Agent Francis said, nodding toward her, "I'll wait here." He leaned back against a door frame, folding his arms across his chest.

Walter wavered for a moment, then stepped toward her, wringing his hands together as he neared her desk. She glanced up as he came to a stop in front of her, her eyes narrowing immediately with distrust, and then returned to her paperwork, refusing to look at him.

"What I did to you was very untrustworthy of me." he said slowly, looking down on her curly hair. "I never intended to harm you. I was…simply doing what was necessary, to protect us all." He faltered then, as she kept her head down, still not acknowledging him. "…If it would help you feel a sense of retribution, I would tell you to inject me too, but... but I'd most likely enjoy it." He smiled forlornly, watching her work a few moments longer and then moved away from the desk, feeling bleaker than ever.

"I'll take you back now, Dr. Bishop." Agent Francis said, guiding Walter with a hand at his back. "You need anything else?"

Walter looked back over his shoulder at Agent Farnsworth, "Just my own clothes." he said sadly. "I'd really like to get those back. Oh...and I'd really like to urinate, if that's possible."

* * *

**Olivia **arrived at Boston General about an hour after Charlie had called; informing her that Peter was in the ER and was currently undergoing a battery of tests, focusing on his head and chest. He'd commented that Peter had been unwilling to divulge what exactly had happened to him, leading her to believe that he had in fact been tortured, as she'd feared.

The hospital parking garage was nearly empty, being late as it was, and she had no trouble finding a spot near the emergency room entrance. Shutting the vehicle off, she examined herself in the rearview mirror for a moment, enjoying the silence. She noticed her hair was looking rather frizzy, the sweat from her nights exertions having left its mark behind. Instead of reaching for the brush she kept in her glove box, she grabbed a rubber band from her coin tray, and pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, enjoying the tension on her scalp as she tucked it through the loop once and then again. When she was finished, she studied her appearance again, and then rubbed at a smear of dirt on her cheek, probably left behind from rubbing against Peter's jacket.

Leaning back in her seat, Olivia swiped a hand across her forehead and sighed, looking down at the envelope with the Department of Homeland Security insignia in the top left corner sitting on the seat next to her. The Bishop's credentials had finally been approved. Broyles had given them to her before they'd left the cemetery, citing the chaos of the day for not getting them to her earlier. She had taken them without comment, not ready to tell him yet that they had come too late, that that ship had already sailed. He would find out soon enough.

Picking up the envelope, she opened it and removed the two plastic cards tucked inside. Walter's ID was on top, his grinning mug staring up at her with a bemused expression from the glossy surface of the card. She pulled out the other card from behind Walter's, and stared down at Peter's picture, her lips curling at his sullen look. He may have accepted that he had to sign his rights away to the federal government, be he hadn't been happy about it. She thought about what she had to tell him, how wrong she'd been. This wasn't his fight, it never had been.

She reached for her coffee, taking a sip and enjoying the heat as it went down. She took another and realized that she was stalling, and shook her head in annoyance at her behavior. There was no use putting it off, it was best to just get it over with. She put the coffee back in its cup holder, then pushed open the car door and climbed out, slipping the credentials absently into her pocket as she swung the door shut behind her.

On her way toward the entrance, she passed a black suv, which she thought looked a lot like Broyles's, and wondered how he'd managed to arrive ahead of her. Her side trip for coffee, surely hadn't taken more than a few minutes. He'd told her he was taking the killer's strange weapon to a specialist, someone who was very excited to see it. It must have been a short trip.

She had only received a minor tongue lashing from him, which she had taken without complaint, as she led him and the other agents through the forest, back to the killer's body and to place where the cylinder had disappeared into the ground. Her only response was that the killer would have escaped with the cylinder, and Peter most likely would have been killed if she had waited. She didn't see how he could argue with that, and he hadn't. Broyles had merely given her that stony look of his in response, and let the subject drop, with further comment on the matter.

The glass automatic doors slid open at her approach, and Olivia was greeted by a dull roar of voices from inside as she stepped into the waiting room of the ER, looking around for Agent Broyles, who was nowhere in sight. The waiting room was chaotic, with the rows of straight backed seating full of people, disproportionately men at a glance, with a few women and children mixed in amongst the crowd.

She felt eyes on her as she approached the registration desk, stepping up next to a woman with a young boy about ten years old. The boy had one of his hands wrapped in a towel, and there were splatters of blood covering both arms and on his clothing. The boy's face looked green, and she thought it likely that he might be sick. The mother was in argument with a young nurse on duty sitting behind the desk.

"We've been waiting for over thirty minutes!" the mother exclaimed, leaning over the desk toward the other woman. "My boy has a cut on his hand! Do you see all this blood? He's bleeding out right here in your waiting room!"

The nurse's eyes flicked from the woman's face to the boy's hand, a look of irritation crossing her face. "Miss, I've already told you, your boy is going to be fine, if you could just take a seat-"

"Going to be fine?" the woman shrieked, pulling the boy in front of her. "Do you see all this blood?" she repeated loudly.

Olivia pulled out her badge, the motion drawing the nurse's attention. She felt bad for the mother and her child, but the argument didn't look like it was going to be resolved quickly.

"Can I help you officer?" the nurse said, turning toward her with a look of relief on her face at the disruption.

Olivia ignored the mother, who was spluttering with indignation at being interrupted. "Yes, I'm looking for a man who was brought in a little over an hour ago, his name was Peter Bishop?"

The young woman's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh yeah…the head and chest. You're from the FBI?" she asked.

Olivia nodded her head. "Yes, I am. How's he doing?"

"I wouldn't know." the nurse replied with a shrug. "You can go on in." She nodded toward a pair of wide doors around the corner from the desk. "Through there."

"Thank you." Olivia said, putting her badge away and moving toward the double doors and pushing her way through them.

"So you'll let her back there, just like that?" The mother complained behind her to the nurse. "I gotta have a badge to get help around here?"

"Miss!" Olivia heard the nurse say, her voice rising, "Your son has a minor laceration, which will be-"

"Minor!"

The doors swung shut behind her cutting off the rest of the disagreement, to her relief. She was glad she'd never even considered becoming a nurse at any point in her life. Slipping her coat off her shoulders, Olivia moved toward another doorway, through which was the main triage area.

The interior of the ER was painted a dull turquoise, which she remembered from her last visit there, and she still found the color to be as off-putting now as she had then. The paint was chipped badly along the edges of the door frames, evidence of the heavy use that the ER received on a daily basis. There was a muted stillness, which was a reprieve from the chaos of the waiting room, and she could here faint voices through the sliding doors of the patient rooms as she passed them by. Rounding a corner, she saw a nurse in bright blue scrubs standing outside one the rooms, filling out paperwork against the window.

Olivia headed toward the woman, who looked up as she approached. "Hi, I'm looking for Peter Bishop?" she said, "He was brought in about an hour ago?"

The nurse started to reply when Olivia saw Agent Broyles standing at the nurses' station, at the other end of the corridor.

"Oh, excuse me," Olivia said awkwardly, "I see someone I need to speak with."

She moved away from the woman, toward Broyles who having spotted her, approached from the other direction, his shoulders swinging with his wide gait. He appeared to be in a better mood than he'd been in when she'd seen him last, judging by the very faint smile on his face she discerned as they neared each other. She had noticed that he had a short memory when it came to forgetting past transgressions, something for which she was grateful. Broyles stopped a short distance away from her, watching her in silence as she closed the distance between them.

"Hey." she said, coming to a stop before him.

"You okay?"

Olivia nodded and looked down at her feet, surprised and a little embarrassed by the concern in his voice. "Yeah." she replied, then lifted her head, keeping her face carefully composed. "I'm fine."

Broyles seemed to accept her response, and turned back in the direction he'd come, walking back toward the other end of the corridor. Olivia hurried after him, matching his larger strides. She glanced back at the nurse she'd spoken to, making sure she hadn't followed after them before she spoke again. The woman was paying them no attention.

"So…were they able to recover the cylinder?" she asked, wanting to know if there had been any progress since she'd left the cemetery.

Broyles shook his head. "We dug out the hole, but there's no sign of it." he said, stopping in front of the nurses' station. "As soon as the sun comes up, we'll bring in an excavator, but somehow, I don't have any expectations we'll find it."

"So it just disappeared then." Olivia said, thinking of what Henry Jacobson had told her. "Just like before, at Quantico."

"It would appear so." Broyles agreed. "We were able to ID the shooter, though. Name was John Mosley. He was wanted for a double homicide in Seattle last month…and a few drug-related felonies before that."

Olivia frowned at the new information. Seattle? Drugs? That hardly explained his interest or connection to the cylinder, or his unknown weapon. "Seattle?" she said doubtfully, "He sure came a long way to try and get that thing. How could he have known it was here? Where did that gun come from, and what is it?"

Broyles grunted and shrugged his shoulders. "You've got a lot questions, Dunham." he said dryly. "And I don't have any of the answers."

Olivia pursed her lips and glanced away from him down the hallway, seeing movement out of the corner of her eye. Her stomach rolled in surprise at seeing Peter come out of a patient room on the other side of the nurses' station, carrying his brown jacket in front of him. Their eyes met as he moved forward slowly, almost hesitantly in her direction. A nurse spoke to him, and he stopped and turned toward the counter, where he was handed a clipboard.

"I should get back." Broyles said suddenly.

She glanced up at her superior, having forgotten he was still there. He was looking down the hallway at Peter as well.

"As you can imagine," he went on, turning his attention back to her. "There are some inter-agency fires to quash. The NSA considered that device their personal property. They're looking for an explanation."

Olivia gave him a commiserating look. She didn't envy his position at all, after the attacks and the ensuing debacle with Walter. Someone would want heads to roll.

"So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Olivia said, nodding and raising an eyebrow at the obvious question. "Of course."

Broyles turned on his heels, and she caught the corner of his smile as he moved away from her toward the exit. She stared at the space he'd been standing in for a moment, before swallowing and looking over at Peter, where he was still filling out paperwork at the nurses' station.

He looked up at her approach, his face strangely intense with a look she didn't recognize. Olivia ran her gaze over his features, taking in the heavy bruising around his nose and under his eyes, and his split lip. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned and a thick bandage was visible, taped across his chest. He looked defeated and exhausted, except for the strange look he was giving her, which she still had yet to put a name to. She remembered the look he'd had on his face back in the cemetery when she'd stumbled across him after her confrontation with the gunman, like he'd had an epiphany, and wondered if the two were related.

"Hey." she said to him, trying to keep her voice light. The nurse in charge handed her the clipboard, pointing a finger at the spot she should sign for his discharge. Olivia scrawled her name in the space indicated, and handed the clipboard back to the nurse, who took it and moved away from them. "You ready to get out of here?" she asked, looking over at Peter with a grin, trying to draw him out of the odd mood he was in.

Peter made no reply, but kept his intense eyes on her as he moved to her side and they turned toward the exit. His silence was unnerving, and for a moment she wondered if he was angry with her, but discarded the thought immediately. It wasn't anger she saw on his face, it was something else, some emotion of his she'd never seen before. Whatever it was, he seemed to be working up to talking about it, as he glanced her way several times with an open mouth, but each time closed it and looked away.

Olivia kept her attention on him as they walked, waiting for him to speak, knowing he would eventually. She took stock of his injuries again, her gaze lingering on his chest, where she noticed purple bruising peeking out from underneath the white bandage and his sparse chest hair. She felt a small amount of satisfaction in knowing that the bastard that had done it to him was dead by her hand.

"Something happened out there tonight, Olivia." he said suddenly, drawing her attention from his chest and up to his bruised face. "Back in the cemetery, before you found me. This…_Pattern..._that Broyles refers to…I always thought it was nonsense. Inexplicable things happen every single day. It does not mean that there is any deeper significance to them."

He moved in front of her, forcing her to a stop. The intense look was gone from his face, replaced by one she recognized as nervousness or doubt. She waited for him to continue, unsure of what he was trying to tell her.

"I know this might sound insane." he said, looking up and down the corridor before leaning closer to her and continuing in a low voice. "Actually, I know that it will sound insane…but…the man in the woods, he knew me." He pointed a finger at his chest. "And I don't know how, but he was inside my head. He knew what I was going to say…before I said it."

"The man that I shot?" Olivia said, looking at him closely. He was right, it did sound insane.

Peter shook his head. "No…no…the other guy, the bald guy." he said, bringing a hand up to his forehead. "From your photos, back at the lab. Mr. No-brows?"

Olivia frowned, shaking her head slightly. "Peter, I didn't see anyone…" she said gently, trying not to sound like she was doubting him.

"Look…" he said, his voice as serious as she'd ever heard it. "You know me well enough by now to know that these are the last words I would ever expect to be saying…but what if Walter is right? What if this is just the beginning?"

His eyes locked on hers, waiting for her response, but she didn't know what to say. Maybe he'd had encounter with the Observer, and maybe he hadn't. Charlie had told her he'd been diagnosed with a concussion, who knew what kind of effect it could have had on him. Either way, it was no longer his problem to deal with. He had made that abundantly clear already, and she finally agreed with him.

"Peter…listen, you took a pretty bad blow to the head-"

"You think I did this to myself?" he cut her off, gesturing at the bruising on his face.

"No…no, I just…I was wrong to…" Olivia hesitated, and looked away from him, swallowing down the guilt she felt at what had been done to him. "To demand that you stay here. Walter is not your responsibility. As you've always said...this was just supposed to be temporary. You have your life, and I understand that now, so..." The words died in her mouth as she saw the changing expression on his face. He was looking at her like she was speaking gibberish.

Peter looked down, a wry smile flashing across his face. "Olivia," he said, "did you hear a word that I just said? I mean, I'm a fairly open-minded guy, but there are things happening here that I can't even begin to explain...and I am not going anywhere, until I can."

Olivia stared at him wordlessly as he finished, feeling her mouth drop open, and unable to respond as his last words had fallen like bombs across her senses, leaving her dumbfounded. When his words finally registered, she realized that he'd just told her that he was staying, that he _wanted _to stay, and work with her. There had been something in his voice...an eagerness…that she'd never heard from him before, ever. She tilted her head, staring intently into his eyes, trying to perceive the truth of his intentions. To her surprise, he was wide open, all of his defenses down, allowing her to see what she would. The naked honesty she found in his blue gaze was enlightening. He meant every word of it.

Peter was going to stay, and he was going to do so willingly, all in. A rush of relief flowed into her like one of Walter's drugs, and it occurred to her that she had something for him. "In that case, you might want this." Olivia said softly when she was able to speak again, pulling his new ID from her pocket. "Your credentials have been approved." She handed him the card, which he stared down at like it was something extraordinary. "You're now officially a civilian consultant to the Department of Homeland Security."

He swallowed down some emotion, which she was unable to discern, then looked up at her, waggling the ID card. "Does this mean I don't need an escort to come into the Federal Building anymore?" he said, with a hint of his normal mischievousness returning to his voice.

Olivia nodded once, looking down at the card, "Yeah." she replied, a slow grin forming on her lips as the twinkle that had been absent from his eyes since she'd found him in the cemetery returned.

"Will it get me out of speeding tickets?"

"Maybe." she said playfully, finding his manner contagious.

There was a moment of comfortable silence as their eyes met in a long stare. Olivia wondered what he was thinking at that moment, if he had any regrets or doubts about his decision, if he was wondering the same about her. His defenses were up again, the humorous mask settling back into place, hiding his true feelings from her. She didn't mind though, everyone had a mask that they wore, behind which they hid their true selves. She knew this better than most. What was important was that he had allowed her that brief glimpse inside his, and that was enough for now. Maybe one day she could return the favor, if she could ever work up the courage to do so.

Peter finally grinned, and looked toward the exit. "Didn't you say something about getting out of here?" he said, throwing a hand out behind him.

Olivia nodded. "I did." she agreed, pushing past him. "You coming or what?" She threw glance back at him over her shoulder.

Peter rolled his eyes and hurried after her, "I'm right behind you." he said, and followed her outside.

* * *

**Peter** watched her navigate toward the hotel, running his fingers over his new ID card absently. It was late, near to midnight by the time they had stopped for food and eaten, or rather she'd stopped, and he'd eaten. Olivia had refused any food, claiming she would eat something at her apartment later. Well, he didn't have that luxury.

He studied her profile as she drove, looking at the ponytail she'd put her hair in. It hadn't been that way earlier, at the cemetery. When she had singlehandedly taken down the man who'd killed all of the agents in that warehouse. The man who had tortured him…who'd turned out to be some druggie from Seattle. She glanced over at him, noticing his scrutiny.

"What?" she said, glancing at him again, then back to the road.

"Oh…nothing." he said dismissively. "Just thinking."

Olivia looked over at him again, her eyes curious. "About what?"

Peter shrugged, "The man…"

"The man who took you?" she inquired, "Or the Observer?"

As he was eating his chinese, she'd told him about the killer, and what she knew about the Observer and the room Broyles had taken her to at the Federal Building. He found it all fascinating, even more so by the fact that this man somehow knew Walter. And he could read minds, he couldn't forget that part. How was the Observer connected to the killer?

"Both, I guess." he said, looking out the window. "Did I tell you what he was doing before I tackled him?"

"You tackled the Observer?" Olivia said, sounding shocked. "You left that part out."

Peter glanced over at her, catching a grin on her face as she turned away from him. "I did tackle him, but before that, he was watching you."

"Watching me?"

"Well, maybe not you so much as the cylinder." he said hastily, noticing that she sounded a little freaked out by the prospect, and he couldn't blame her. "It was right after it disappeared, the ground shaking and the flash of light and all that. The bald guy was talking to somebody on a cell phone. He said something about the departure being on schedule, and then he hung up. That was when I tackled him."

Olivia didn't respond right away, just nodded, and chewed on her lip in thought. He saw the hotel approaching in the distance, and sighed at the thought of seeing Walter again. There was no avoiding him, and he'd known it when he'd decided to stop running and stay in Boston. Charlie should have dropped him off there already. The suv turned into the hotel street entrance, and Olivia coasted it to a stop near the curb, and then shut the engine off.

They exchanged glances when Peter didn't move to get out. He had something else he needed to tell her. He just had to work himself up to it.

"Peter." Olivia said softly, her voice almost a whisper.

"Yeah?" He swiveled toward her, ignoring the pain in chest, curious at her tone.

"What happened to you?" she asked, her hands gripping the wheel tightly. "When that man took you? What did he do to you?"

"You don't want to know." Peter said, shaking his head. "Trust me."

Olivia was silent for a moment, "Actually I do want to know." she told him, twisting in her seat to face him. "He murdered an old friend of mine. The man I went to visit, Henry Jacobson. Broyles told me that he had been tortured...I...I want to know what was done to him."

"Olivia, why would you want to know that?" he asked, not liking this morbid side to her personality she was displaying.

"I...just do."

Peter turned away from her, falling back on his seat, thinking back to earlier that day. Back to the table, and the straps, and the machine...and the pain. He didn't really want to talk about it to anyone...but if he had to, he could do worse than talk to her. Maybe she could derive some kind of closure from it. He decided to take Charlie's advice, and began to speak.

He told her of waking up on the table, strapped down and confused. How the killer had taped the sensors to his forehead, and then the strange machine he'd plugged them into. When he described the wires, and how the man had shoved them up his nose one after the other, Olivia's eyes grew wide, and she gasped when he described the pain he experienced when the machine was turned on, and how it had been able to pluck the thoughts right out of his head. He held back the despair he had felt, and how he'd given up fighting it.

"Jesus." she breathed when he was finished, "I'm so sorry, Peter." She ran her hands over her pulled-back hair, closing her eyes.

Peter raised his shoulders. "Not your fault, 'Livia." he said huskily. Surprisingly, he did feel a little better about what had happened after talking about it. A minuscule amount better.

Olivia opened her eyes, and squinted at him through the dim interior. She opened her mouth to protest but he didn't let her get a word out.

"It's not your fault," he repeated. "What happened to me...or what happened to your friend."

She looked away from him, staring down at her lap. He thought she might be crying for a moment, but when she turned back to him, her cheeks were dry.

"Thank you."

Peter shook his head emphatically. "I should be the one thanking you."

"For what?"

"For coming for me."

Olivia curled up one corner of her mouth. "It's what partners do." she said simply, with a nod her head, bouncing her ponytail on her shoulders. She started the suv, signifying the end of their discussion.

Peter unlatched his seatbelt and pushed open the door. He climbed out and then looked back in at her "Partners, huh?" he smirked.

"Yep." she replied, then flashed him a wide smile. "Twenty-four seven, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah." he grumbled. "I remember."

Olivia giggled, shaking her head at him. "Good night, Peter." she said, leaning forward and tilting her head to the side as she stared at him through the open door.

"Good night, Olivia." he answered, and pushed the door closed.

They gazed at each other through the window for a brief moment, and then she drove away. Peter watched her suv until it was out of sight, and turned and looked up at the hotel. Now came the hard part.

.

Walter was still awake when he pushed open the door to their room. He was sitting in the straight-back chair in his pajamas and a bath robe, obviously waiting for his return.

"Peter!" he cried, starting to rise from his seat.

Peter held up a hand up, shaking his head. "Just stay there, Walter." he said. "I'm fine." He moved past his father, toward the sofa and the whiskey sitting on the end table.

"But...what of your injuries?" Walter said, dropping back into the chair. "Maybe...I should take a look at them?"

Peter shook his head as he took off his coat, and tossed it over the back of the sofa. "No." he said flatly. "I was already at the hospital. Mild concussion and some heavily bruised ribs. That's it." He reached for the decanter of whiskey, and poured himself a glass.

"Oh...okay." his father said, crossing his hand in his lap. "Well...how was your day then, son?"

Peter paused in the act of taking a sip, wondering if he'd the question correctly. "How was my day?" he said incredulously, staring down at the amber liquid in the glass. "Let me tell you about my day, Walter. I was abducted, tortured, and had two wires shoved up my nose that were connected to a machine I've never seen before." He spun around to face his father. "But maybe the strangest part of the day is that somehow, without talking, I was able to answer a question that I didn't have the answer to."

"Where I buried the cylinder?" Walter said, his voice quiet.

Peter took a few steps toward his father. "How did I know that, Walter?" he asked, coming to a stop in front of his chair. "I didn't know that. I didn't know where the cylinder was buried."

"You know it son, because I know it."

"No, I didn't know," he snapped, "because _you_ didn't tell me!"

"I didn't have to." Walter replied grimly. He paused, and then went on in his low voice "You must adjust the way you consider communications, ideas. Ideas can be absorbed through osmosis...through proximity."

Peter closed his eyes, feeling intense irritation. Everything that had happened could have been avoided, if his father would have just shared what he'd known about cylinder beforehand.

Walter hesitated, looking down at the floor in front of his chair. "Do you remember the night of the accident when you were young?" he asked. "I was driving..."

"Of course, I remember." Peter said, pacing away from him.

"Your mother was at home…"

"Of course I remember!" Peter said again, glancing back at him. "Thanksgiving dinner." In truth, he didn't remember all that well. It was one his foggier memories. He took a large sip of his drink, clenching his teeth at the burn. Most of the nightmares of his childhood were of that night.

"She was anxious for us to get there, to join everyone." Walter went on, his voice monotone in recollection. "When the car went off the road, the ice was so thick…that it held the vehicle for what must have been two minutes."

"What does this have to do with what happened today?" he said, moving back in front of his father.

"I regained consciousness…and I saw your body... contorted horribly," Walter said, looking up at him. "I reached for you. But the ice broke. And we…sank into that dark water."

"And then you swam to shore and saved us both." Peter recited, taking a seat on the couch. "I know."

"No." Walter shook his head, frowning sadly. "I was unable to control my limbs in that icy water. They wouldn't respond. I was incapable of saving you…or myself. We were dead, Peter…you and I." He paused, his eyes focused inward.

Peter sat up straight, listening closely. This was all new to him. It was not the story that he'd been told of that night. Why was he just now hearing this?

"Until someone grabbed me." Walter continued, glancing over at him. "And we were going up. We were saved, both of us, by a man that I had never met…a man that shouldn't have been there at all." The tempo of his speech slowed as he recalled the memory. "He pulled us to the shore…I remember that he was bald, that he had no eyebrows. And as he set us down in the snow, I recall his stare…standing there in his suit soaking wet, seemingly…indifferent to the cold." He hesitated, his eyes narrowing on something only he could see. "It was as if he knew my thoughts before I did. As if he were inside my head. Without speaking, he made it clear that he would need me one day. A return favor, so to speak. And this is it," Walter said, nodding his head, "today, what happened with the cylinder. I'm not sure how I knew about the…vibrations, the composition. But then when I tested it myself, heard the vibrations, felt them…it was as if an envelope had been opened and I could finally read my instructions. Instantly, I knew that I had to protect the cylinder for him. Who they are, what they want…as a man of science, I share your frustration in not having these answers." His voice grew hoarse and he swallowed, the sad smile returning to his face. "But what I know is that you are sitting here now...my son...alive."

Peter took another drink, glancing over at his father's glistening eyes. Walter's story was incredible, and he understood why he'd never told him before. If he hadn't already had an encounter with the mind reading bald man, he would have written it off as one of his father's delusions. The man had saved his life, both of their lives. He felt an impulse to call Olivia and tell her the story; she would surely want to hear it.

"I know…you must think me insane." Walter said softly from his chair. He wiped at his eyes with one hand, his chin resting on his chest.

"Not nearly as much as you might think, Walter." Peter said, and finished his drink in one burning gulp.

Walter smiled, and nodded his head, the relief evident on his features. They stared at each other silently, until Peter rose from the sofa, and crossed the room to the lone mirror above the dresser. He leaned in close, staring at his marred face. He looked like shit. The red light of the alarm clock drew his attention, and glanced down at the time. It was almost one o'clock. His call to Olivia could wait.

At that moment, all he really wanted was to sleep.

* * *

**Olivia** collected her mail from the drop box on her way into the building. Tucking the bundle of envelopes under her arm, she took steps up to her floor, and moved down the hallway, stopping in front of the door to her apartment. There was a glow of light from under her door, and she realized that she'd left her lights on, again. Unlocking the door, she pushed it open and winced at the bright light inside. Nearly every light in her apartment was on.

Shaking her head and irritated with herself, she walked in tossing her coat over the back of a chair, and her keys and phone on the table near the door. Her mail was mostly bills, and a few credit card applications. No handwritten cards yet, thankfully. She still had a little time before she needed to worry about that particular problem. She dropped the mail next to her keys and looked around her apartment.

Why had she turned all the lights on in the first place? She moved over to the nearest lamp, a tall floor lamp, with a squat shade that was the main source of light for the room. Turning it off, her eyes fell on her comforter, sitting in clump on the cushion of one her chairs near the fireplace.

The reason the lights were on came back to her in a flash.

The phone call.

With everything that had happened that day it had slipped her mind, completely. She looked around her apartment again uneasily, remembering how she questioned her sanity afterward, sitting in her suv in the faculty lot at Harvard. Looking back on it, maybe it had been a dream after all. Nothing else had happened to indicate otherwise.

With a weary sigh, she walked toward the kitchen, running a hand over her hair and back to her ponytail. The single overhead light was on in there also. She glanced at it, then moved to the pantry, thinking that a bowl of cereal sounded nice. When she had told Peter she was going to eat something in her apartment, she'd neglected to tell him what exactly. Her late night eating habits would no doubt have amused him. _Or worried him_, she said to herself, and grabbed the box of corn flakes. Her eyes fell on the half empty bottle of Johnnie Walker, and after moment of hesitation she pulled it out also.

Olivia set the cereal and bottle on her little island, then grabbed a bowl from her dish cabinet and moved to the refrigerator. She opened the bottom door and bent over, staring in at the almost bare shelves inside. Unless she wanted her corn flakes with pickled olive juice or some ketchup, it appeared she would be eating the corn sans milk. It wouldn't be the first time. She closed the door, making a mental note to herself to go shopping sometime soon.

Bowl in hand, she crossed back to the island and poured herself a finger of whiskey, and then drank it down in one gulp, shutting her eyes and enjoying the feel of it slipping down her throat. She poured herself another finger, which she could sip at, and then shook some cornflakes into the bowl to munch on. Picking up the bowl, she leaned back against the island and dug her index finger into the cereal, moving the flakes around absently as she thought about the day's events again, and the whether the phone call had really happened or not.

_What a day_, she thought, grabbing a few flakes and lifting them toward her mouth. Looking up from the bowl, she saw man standing in the doorway to her laundry room.

It was John! He was wearing his dark suit, with a blue shirt and his favorite tie. He was smiling at her, his blue eyes twinkling like they used to.

Olivia's mind went blank as all her mental machinery came to grinding halt. Her mouth hung slack, and her hand was frozen just below her chin, still holding the cornflakes. She couldn't look away from him. It was as if she'd just fallen off a cliff, and the ground was rushing toward her at terminal velocity. Only he was the ground.

_Your gun! Your gun! Your gun! _Someone was shrieking at her. The voice sounded distant, like she was hearing it through water, and there was rhythmic thumping sound accompanying it. She saw John's eyelids blink and then his mouth open, only everything was happening in slow motion, or as if time itself was coming to a stop at this unwelcome breach of reality.

"Hello, Liv." John said casually.

There was a crash, and then everything started happening at once, as if time needed to catch up with itself. Her bowl of cereal was on the floor, fragments of ceramic and cornflakes flying in all directions. She realized that the shrieking had been her mind, telling her to get that fucking gun out, and the thumping was her heart about to burst in her chest.

Olivia's right hand went to her pistol at her waist, trying to yank it out of its holster. It wouldn't come. It was snapped in place, of course it wouldn't come. Her practiced fingers went for the snap, and fumbled. She couldn't unsnap it! _Fuck!_ Glancing down at the holster, she ordered her fingers to comply and they finally did. A heartbeat later, she had it out and pointed at his head.

Or where his head had been. He was gone.

Breathing hard, Olivia moved with wide eyes toward the doorway he'd been in, holding the gun out in front of her. She reached around the door frame, flipping on the light switch, then swung around the corner, her finger already starting to exert pressure on the trigger.

The room was empty. Spinning around, she rushed toward the only other doorway in the kitchen. Olivia stopped at the edge of the opening, pressing her back against the wall. She held the gun in both hands pointed up at ceiling in front of her, her breath sounding as loud as a freight train in her ears. She closed her eyes, trying to blink away the tears she sensed were forming. Gathering her will, she gritted her teeth and peeked around the corner into her bedroom on the left. It was empty. Swinging around the doorframe, she moved to the right, toward the entrance to her apartment, still keeping her gun up. Her living room was empty also.

Olivia turned around slowly, running her eyes over every possible spot someone could hide in. There weren't many and John Scott wasn't in any of them, as she'd already guessed he wouldn't be. Moving into her bedroom, she checked it and the bathroom, then let her gun drop when they came up empty also.

Feeling dazed, she moved back to her living room, and dropped down on the chair she'd spent the night before on. She hugged her knees against her chest, wrapping her arms around them, her gun still in one hand.

What the hell was happening to her? Why was it happening to her? _I'm going insane_, she thought, hugging her knees even tighter. _It's finally happening, Olivia. You're seeing dead people._ If the Bureau found out about it, she'd lose her license, her badge. Her life.

She thought about calling someone, just to hear someone else's voice, but didn't know who. Who could she tell about this? Who would believe her? Should they believe her? She wasn't sure, of anything.

Rachel was out of the question, she'd be on plane to Boston before Olivia could hang up the phone. Charlie then? She considered calling him, but he'd be with his wife, and they hardly saw each other as it was, with the hours he worked. It was late, and they were probably asleep already. She would be waking them both up. There was only one other person she could think of to call.

Peter.

She glanced at the clock on the mantle above her fireplace. It was almost one o'clock. He was probably still awake. Getting up from the chair, she put her gun back in its holster, and crossed the room to the table where she'd dropped her keys and her phone.

Olivia grabbed the phone and dialed the number to his hotel room, but stopped short of pressing the call button, rethinking the whole idea. Peter had spent his day being literally tortured and beaten. He didn't need her dumping her problems on him in the middle of the night. He needed sleep, if that was even possible after what had happened to him. Regretfully, she canceled the call, letting the phone drop out of her hand and onto the table.

Olivia glanced around her apartment uncomfortably, not liking the vibes she was picking up. She was beginning to feel like she was trapped in foreign territory, like the walls were closing in. She recognized the feeling at once, it was old and familiar, one she hadn't felt since she was a girl, the feeling that her home had been invaded by a terrible monster and was no longer her own.

She had to get out of there, at least for a night. There was no way she would be able to get any sleep in there, and she just needed to sleep. Things would make more sense then, she was sure of it.

Grabbing her keys, coat, and phone, Olivia pulled open her door and locked it behind her.

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**So this is the end of 1x04. This was as far as I ever envisioned going when I started this project on a whim. Since then, I've discovered that really enjoy writing it, so I'm going to keep going, if people still want to read it. I may take a little time to recharge first...or not, I haven't decided.**

**A big thank you to everyone who has read and left your wonderful reviews!**


	34. Chapter 33 - 1x05 Power Hungry

**Chapter 33**

**-Brighton Holiday Inn Express**

**Olivia's** eyes opened on an unfamiliar popcorn ceiling. She stared up at it groggily, her eyes rolling in their sockets, searching for something recognizable as her confusion as to her whereabouts began to resolve into full blown panic. Bolting upright into a sitting position, the drab yellow walls and dingy dresser at the foot the bed told her at once she was in a motel room. There was an alarm clock on a nightstand to her left. It was 5:58 am. Her gun was in its holster next to the clock, along with her keys and phone, and she grabbed it without thought, the cool, metallic weight of it in her hand instantly calming her nerves.

John Scott had been in her apartment.

He'd spoken to her.

He was dead.

She had fled her apartment afterward, not liking the invaded air it was emitting, and had stopped at the first motel she'd come across in her frantic frame of mind. Her eyes ran over the motel's name and logo on a pad of stationery sitting on the nightstand under her cell phone. Funny...she didn't feel any smarter.

Taking a deep breath, Olivia examined her disheveled appearance in the mirror hanging on the wall above the dresser, running a hand through her stringy hair, and feeling a strong desire to shower. She had slept in her clothes, minus her shoes and coat, both of which were sitting on the room's only chair. But she had slept, which was the only thing that mattered at the moment. She felt better now, her head clear. She rolled off the bed and paced around the tiny motel room.

What she needed to do now was to think, analyze what she had seen and heard with clinical detachment.

A dead man had been in her apartment. Or seemed to have been. Logically, John Scott hadn't really been there. So what had she seen then...and heard? Not a ghost, certainly, she was still firmly in the non-believer category, despite everything that had happened. So what had happened? Could it have been some kind of stress induced hallucination? Or maybe it was the fact that she'd never gotten any real closure after what happened with John.

Olivia snorted a laugh to herself at that thought. To say she'd never gotten any closure to was like saying that water was wet or that fire was hot. Whom he'd been working for, and what he'd been up to, she had never learned. Had he ever really loved her? Had there been a moment of hesitation, a look of regret on his face before he'd tried to kill her? She didn't want to remember.

Other than the first few days after his death, she'd thought very little of John Scott. Her feelings for him had been locked away, way back in a dark corner of her mind, and she'd thrown away the key. Probably not the healthiest way to deal with it, she knew, but it worked for her. It had allowed her to get up in the morning, at least, those first few days. She didn't really want to go digging for the key, so she pushed those thoughts aside, and focused on the sequence of related events.

First was the dream, the strange one she'd had of being in a diner with the Bishops. Peter had started acting and talking like John, and one of his favorite songs had been playing, and then John had been in the mirror, and he had said something similar to what he'd said in her apartment. She'd written it off as just a really weird dream at the time, but what if it was connected somehow?

There had been nothing out of the ordinary after that, until the phone call two nights ago. The phone call which hadn't been on the FBI's phone logs. She had been sure that it had been John's voice saying her name.

Olivia stopped her pacing, coming to stand before the dresser. She leaned on it with both hands, staring down at its finished surface. Whatever was happening to her, it had started with the dream. There was a clear chain of events: first the dream, then phone call, and finally the vision she'd had the night before. Her...condition, or whatever it was, it was getting worse with each occurrence.

_I'm not crazy! _she thought furiously. _I'm not._

Pushing away from the dresser, she tucked her hair back out of her face with a sigh. What would be next? Was she going to wake up and find him in bed with her? What if he showed up when she wasn't alone? The thought was sobering.

She needed to talk to someone, but first...she needed to go home. Grabbing her coat and shoes, she slipped them on, and then retrieved her keys and phone from the nightstand. After double checking to make sure she wasn't leaving anything behind, Olivia clipped her gun holster at her waist and left the room to check out.

.

Staring down at her hand on the knob, Olivia hesitated for a moment, before finally giving it a twist and pushing open the door. She walked in, stopping just inside the doorway, her gaze narrowing on the lights she'd annoyingly left on again in her hurry to get out of there the night before. It was becoming a chronic habit of hers.

The atmosphere that had driven her from the apartment the night before seemed to have dissipated, so she proceeded the rest of the way in, letting her coat slip off her shoulders, and then tossing it over the back of the sofa. After placing her things in their usual place on her small mail table, she crossed the room to the kitchen doorway. Turning the corner slowly, she stopped and leaned against the painted white wooden frame, taking in the state of her kitchen.

The floor was a mess. The fragments of ceramic from the bowl she'd dropped and the spilled cornflakes were spread out over a wide area, covering most of the kitchen from her island to the door to her laundry room. The bottle of Johnnie Walker was still sitting on the island countertop next to the box of cornflakes, both still open, along with the glass she'd never taken a sip of.

Moving to the island, Olivia closed the box of cereal and the bottle of whiskey and returned them to their shelves in the pantry, before picking up the untouched glass of whiskey and carrying it to the sink. She went to pour it out, but at the last moment brought it up to her nose, inhaling the aroma. Pouring out the amber liquid seemed liked it would be a sin. She tilted her head back, swallowing the contents down in one gulp, and then closed her eyes as the warm glow suffused her being, the tendrils spreading out from her stomach and throat. Feeling better, she grabbed the broom and dustpan from the laundry room, and then cleaned up the remainder of the mess on the floor. When she was satisfied with the state of her kitchen, she walked to her bedroom, unbuttoning her shirt along the way. Her shower was calling to her.

Letting the water in the claw-foot tub heat to the point just below scalding, Olivia finished undressing and then stepped inside. She pulled the curtain closed on its rail around the tub and then twisted on the shower head, gasping with pleasure as the hot water released the tension that she hadn't even realized she still holding. After standing unthinking under the stream for a full five minutes before finally moving, she lathered shampoo into her hair, wondering whether Charlie or Peter would be the better person to get a second opinion on about her hallucinations.

Though she had been about to call Peter the night before, her gut was telling her now that Charlie might be the better choice. He was a fellow agent for one thing, and had known about her and John before it all went bad, and he'd never said anything. Olivia felt like she could probably trust him with this also. Not that she didn't trust Peter, after their moment in the hospital, she trusted him more fully than she had ever before. But she'd known Charlie for years; he'd been there when she was just a green rookie, always there for her, making sure she was okay. He already knew most of her secrets, what was one more? Her relationship with Peter was wholly different, there was a budding friendship there, and it was already more intense in some ways than Charlie and hers had ever been. After a night of sleeping on it, she wasn't quite ready to let him see her so vulnerable. She told herself that it wouldn't be proper as his superior, and felt better about keeping it from him.

Olivia moved back under the spray of hot water, closing her eyes as the shampoo was rinsed from her hair. She rotated under the spray, letting the luxurious heat drive away her doubts about her sanity. After applying her conditioner and body wash, she rinsed and stepped out of the tub, forgoing shaving for the time being; it wasn't likely that she was going to be undressed for anyone to notice for the foreseeable future. She wrapped a towel around her wet hair and grabbed another to dry off with, moving back into her bedroom.

After having chosen a pair of underwear and a bra at random from her dresser drawer, she paused at her closet, looking in at the row of dark suits. She wasn't really feeling very formal at the moment, and the thought of spending all day in one of her button-downs wasn't at all appealing. She compromised, selecting a dark navy suit and a gray cotton shirt, throwing them on in a hurried fashion and then pulling her damp hair back into a ponytail. When she was finished with her hair, she studied herself in the mirror. The gray shirt was too informal, she needed something else.

Opening her jewelry box, she sifted through its contents, for a few moments before settling on the gold necklace with the pendant that her old boyfriend Lucas Vogel had given her, so many years ago. It had always seemed an odd gift to her, a small circular pendant with a ring of dots around the outer rim, with another dot centered in the middle. She suspected that he'd picked it up on a whim, as his explanation of its meaning had sounded like he'd made it up on the spot. Not surprising really, it actually summed up their entire relationship. But she'd kept the necklace, and still wore it occasionally, if only to remind herself to think about her partners a little more carefully. Something she had failed at in even more spectacular fashion with John. After centering the pendant between her breasts, she decided it was good enough, and headed back into the bathroom to grab her toothbrush.

She moved through her apartment brushing her teeth, intending to give Charlie a call. It was after seven o'clock, and he was always up by then. To her surprise, she'd missed a call from him while she'd been in the shower. Dialing his number on the way back to the bathroom, he picked up on the first ring and she had to spit out a mouthful of toothpaste before she could answer his hello.

"Charlie!" Olivia said, and wiped the toothpaste from her mouth with a towel. "Did you call? What's up?" She leaned over the faucet, taking in a mouthful of water directly and then spitting it out.

"Hey Livvy," Charlie replied, "How you doing?" She heard him say something away from the phone, and feminine voice in response.

"Eh…I've been better." she admitted. "Hey, is that Sonia? Tell her I said hello."

"Liv says hello." he told his wife. He waited a moment, then spoke again. "She says hi, and wants you over for dinner sometime when the world isn't ending."

Olivia laughed, "Yeah, good luck with that ever happening." She already was feeling better just by having a normal conversation with someone. "Hey, have you eaten yet?" she asked. "I need to talk to you about something."

"I was gonna say the same thing." Charlie replied. "How about that coffee-house near the Federal Building?"

"I'll see you there." Olivia said, ending the call.

She sat down on her bed, pulling on her socks and boots. A moment later, she turned off all the lights and was out the door.

.

Charlie was already seated at one the tables in the back corner of the small coffee-house when she arrived at the coffee shop. He was wearing his typical dark federal agent suit, and was busy devouring a bagel lathered with thick cream cheese. He looked up as she approached his table, bearing her coffee and a plate with a piece of toast.

"Hey, Liv." he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin as she sat down across from him. He looked at her plate, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you were gonna eat food?"

Olivia took a bite of her toast. "This is food, Charlie." she said defensively. Why was everyone always so concerned about her eating habits? She took sip of her coffee, loving the sweet bitterness. The coffee-house really did have some of the best in the city.

"No…that's just a burnt piece of bread." Charlie said, shaking his head and taking another bite. "This is food." He gestured with the messy bagel in one hand.

She rolled her eyes at his disdain for her toast, but let it pass, wanting to move on to more important topics. "Didn't you say you wanted to talk to me about something?" she asked, and took another deliberate bite of her toast.

"Yeah." He nodded at her question. "So I got a call from Broyles late last night."

Olivia raised her eyebrows. "About?"

"He's having my clearance level raised." Charlie said with a grin. "You know what that means?"

"I can guess…or you can just tell me."

"It means," he went on, "that you aren't getting rid of me so easily, kiddo. He wants me to become a little more involved with this…task force you're heading."

"That's great news!" Olivia said, feeling a bit relieved. "You know…I asked for you when Broyles recruited me back in the beginning. I wonder why he changed his mind now?"

"He said something about needing more feet on the ground." Charlie said with a shrug. "After what happened yesterday…I guess can see that. Anyway, it just sounds like I'll be doing what I've been doing already, only I'll just have access to your case files, and maybe doing a little more field work."

Olivia nodded, feeling a little unsettled by his explanation. Broyles had made no mention of it to her when they'd spoken at the hospital. Did he doubt that she was capable of handling it alone? She admitted that Walter going off the rail, along with Peter's abduction and the subsequent loss of the cylinder must have been embarrassing for him to explain to whoever he reported to. She took another bite of toast, letting her chewing cover her lack of reply.

"So… are you gonna be spending more time at the lab now?" she said after a moment.

Charlie shook his head. "Nah, I think I'll leave the Bishops to you." he said. "How is Peter, by the way?"

Olivia snorted, "For someone who was tortured for information," she said, raising her shoulders, "he was in pretty good spirits when I dropped him off at his hotel last night." She shook her head, remembering his description of the event. "He told me what happened to him, you know."

"He did, did he?" Charlie said, and then grunted, looking at her speculatively.

"What?" she asked, when he didn't say elaborate.

"Nothing, really. Just an observation." he said, shaking his head dismissively, and then changed the subject. "What did you want to talk to me about, anyway?"

Olivia stared down into her cup, her curiosity at his appraisal of her forgotten. Now that the moment had come, she found it difficult to say the words. "Let's get out of here." she said finally, getting to her feet, leaving her unfinished coffee and toast behind.

Charlie looked up at questioningly, but rose to his feet without comment. He followed her out to the sidewalk, matching her pace and waiting for her to speak. He knew her well enough to know that she would get to the point, eventually. She dug her hands into her coat pockets, feeling a slight chill in the morning air. They walked side by side through the light foot traffic of pedestrians, until Olivia had worked out what she wanted to say.

"I…I wanted to ask your opinion about something that… uh…happened recently." Olivia began falteringly. She swallowed uncomfortably, and then went on. "And you know me well enough to know that I wouldn't…make something like this up."

Charlie glanced at her piercingly as they rounded a corner to the street which she'd left her suv parked on. "What are you talking about, Liv?" he said seriously. "What happened?"

"Something that I can't…explain," Olivia started, staring down at the cracks on the sidewalk. She glanced up at him. "And I'm telling you because…you knew about John and you didn't say anything, so I can trust you. At least enough…for me to not think you're gonna think I'm crazy."

"No, of course not." he said, looking over at her, concern written across his face.

They walked a few more paces before she could finally come out with it. "I…I saw him last night." she said, glancing at him to gauge his reaction.

He raised an eyebrow. "You saw who?"

"John." she answered, coming to a stop near the curb.

"You saw John." he said with a frown.

"Yeah." she said, and laughed uneasily. "In my kitchen, standing as far from me as you are now." She shook her head, glancing up and down the sidewalk at the passing pedestrians. None seemed to be paying them any notice. "I went for my gun…but...he was gone. I even searched my apartment for him." she admitted, feeling a bit foolish in hindsight. "I know he wasn't really there…obviously, he…wasn't there. I…I just…" she trailed off, looking away from him and shrugging her shoulders uselessly.

"Let me see." Charlie said in his no-nonsense tone. "You fall in love with your partner...who betrays you, and your country. He dies in your arms, and then he shows up in your kitchen and you're wondering if that's grounds to recuse yourself. That about right?"

"Yeah…okay, well…we can start with that." Olivia said, marveling at his ability to put things in perspective.

"I say no." He shook his head with authority. "You're the one that exposed him." he said, nodding in her direction. "Bare minimum, that makes you indispensable. You want my advice? The next time John shows up for a nightcap...give him one."

Olivia blinked. _Give him one? _What the hell was he talking about?

"I'm being serious here!" she hissed.

"So am I." Charlie said solemnly, looking into her eyes. "You think a few weeks pass, and everything you went through just goes away?" He shook his head again. "Don't fight it. Don't beat yourself up…You know, you're good at that."

Olivia swallowed and looked down between them, feeling a catch in her throat. He was right and she knew it. Her way of dealing with John's death and betrayal was bound to catch up with her eventually, but unfortunately for her, that was how she had been built. It was the only way she was capable of dealing with her complete and utter failure to recognize his deceit. She met his eyes again reluctantly.

"That's just a character flaw, Livvy." he continued, giving her one of his rare smiles. "It'll get easier."

Pinching her lips into a semblance of a smile, she nodded, and then looked down the street toward her parked car. "I'm this way." she said, inclining her head. "I'll see you at the office, Charlie."

Leaving him behind on the sidewalk, Olivia moved toward her vehicle, thinking about his advice. There was one thing she was certain of, despite what Charlie had said. The thought of embracing the all-consuming pain and humiliation she'd felt after John's death wasn't something she could do again, willingly. Her confidence in herself and in her abilities had been completely shattered on that day, but she'd already begun to fill in the John shaped hole in her life with other things, other people. Her new position with Broyles and the Fringe task force was part of it, along the lab, and the people she worked with there, Astrid, Walter…Peter. If she were to be completely honest with herself, something which she rarely ever was, she could admit that she'd already had thoughts about another man. Had had…eyesex with him more than once, for lack of a better word to describe the tension she suspected that they had both felt at times. She was moving on, dammit!

Coming to a stop at her suv, Olivia stared at her reflection in the window, feeling more angry than freaked out by her dead lovers appearance in her kitchen. She decided if she ever saw him again, he was going to be on the receiving end of her righteous fury. Pulling open her door, she climbed in and slammed it shut behind her.

.

To her surprise, when Olivia arrived at the Federal Building, she found that her name was now on the wall next to one of the previously unused private offices. After poking her head into Broyles's office down the hall and he had verified that it was indeed now hers, the anger that she'd been holding onto had vanished like smoke. She'd been waiting to get a private office almost since she had become an agent, nearly a decade ago.

Though she had taken a lot of her personal belongings to the lab, she still had a few things left at her old desk, and she quickly moved the rest of them to her new, much larger desk. After she had arranged everything to her satisfaction, she spent the rest of the morning filling out case reports on the cylinder incident, and all the events surrounding it. She included a vague description of what Peter had told her about his abduction and torture, just so that Broyles and any of the higher-ups above him might have an understanding of what he had gone through, just in case anyone was thinking of passing blame his direction. She was just finishing up, when there was a knock at the door.

Olivia looked up, grinning at the chance to answer her door for the first time.

"Come in." she called.

Broyles opened the door, his bald head gleaming as he stuck his face in through the door. "Agent," he said, "my office." He jerked his head back and was gone.

Olivia rose from her chair and hurried after him the short distance to his office, wondering what it could be now. He was pulling a file from one his cabinets when she entered.

"Let me guess," she said, moving to stand in front of his desk. "There's been an incident."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Now you're catching on, Dunham." he said, pulling a file out and shuffling through it, his eyes scanning each page rapidly. "I've received word about an elevator collapse at an office building in Worcester. Happened less than two hours ago."

"Casualties?" she asked, feeling a veil of calmness settle over her.

Broyles nodded, "I'm afraid so." he said grimly. "Not sure how many. I'm expecting an update soon.

Olivia narrowed her eyes. "Why'd they call us in?"

"I'll brief you on the way to Cambridge." he replied, closing the file and moving toward the door.

* * *

**Peter** held open the door into the lab , allowing his father to enter before him. He took a few paces in and stopped, looking back over his shoulder, shock on his face.

"What happened to the lab, Peter?" Walter said, looking back and forth between him and the disorder on the lab floor. "I...I don't recall it looking like this when I left here yesterday."

"I don't either, Walter." Peter said to his back, shaking his head at his poor memory. "I wasn't conscious when I left, if you remember."

His father moved down the steps, wading into the mess of boxes and file on the floor, mixed in with broken glass. Bending over he picked up a still whole glass retort and holding it up to the light. He muttered something unintelligible and carried over to one of lab counters, which was miraculously untouched by the chaos.

Peter followed him cautiously down the steps, his body still feeling the effects of his trials the day before. He'd woken up that morning feeling like he'd been put through a wood chipper, but after nearly overdosing on over the counter painkillers, it was manageable, barely. The doctor on duty in the ER had wanted to give him a prescription for Percocet, but he had refused the narcotic for reasons he couldn't fathom at the moment. He wouldn't be making that mistake again.

Surveying the destruction left behind by the man who had taken abducted him and nearly escaped with the strange cylinder, he groaned inwardly at the thought of having to clean up the mess. There were several file boxes upside down, their contents swathing the floor in a sea of white paper and manila folders. Several upright shelves and one table had been dumped over, spilling whatever experiment Walter had been working on in his spare time all over everything. He hoped none of it was dangerous.

"Hey, Walter!" he called over to where is father was bent over one of the overturned boxes. "What was in these beakers? Anything toxic?"

Walter straightened and looked over at him forlornly. "Oh...I forgot." he said sadly, letting his hands drop to his side. "I was perfecting my root beer recipe. I had discovered a nearly perfect blend."

"That's wonderful." Peter muttered, grabbing a side of the overturned table and heaving it back on its legs with a groan at his aching ribs. He wiped his hands on his jeans trying to remove the sticky substance on his fingertips.

Reaching down for one of the boxes, he looked up as the lab doors opened, and Astrid stepped inside. She ignored him entirely, and stared down at Walter with a blank expression, letting the door close behind her and leaning back against it for a moment.

Walter had looked up at her entrance also and his eyes widened as they regarded each other. He set the file down into the box he'd been working on moved toward her through the mess hesitantly, with an uncertain look on his face.

Peter stayed where he was, letting whatever was going to happen, happen. Walter deserved whatever he had coming to him.

His father came to a stop at the bottom of the steps and looked up at her hopefully. "I...didn't think you would be coming back to the lab, young lady." he said in a quiet voice, rubbing his hands together nervously. "After what I..." He didn't finish, his voice growing silent as his head drooped down.

Astrid moved away from the door, taking a few steps to the edge of the steps down. "I wasn't going to," she started softly, her voice growing louder as she went on. "But, then I thought about what you said, back at the Federal Building. Where you telling me the truth?"

"It was the truth." Walter said, nodding his head desperately. "I truly believed that our very existence was as stake." He looked up at her pleadingly. "Please come down into the lab, my dear. I'm so very sorry for hurting you...for breaking your trust. I...I will never do so again...I swear it."

The diminutive junior agent gazed down at Walter, her lips pursed skeptically. After a moment, her look softened and she descended the steps, stopping one step short of the bottom, which kept her height about even with his father's taller frame.

"Okay," she said simply, "then I'll forgive you, Walter." She shook her head with a trace of amusement. "You know you could have just apologized at the Federal Building yesterday."

"I thought I did!" Walter said, tilting his head in thought. "I'm quite sure I implied it at least."

"Well, implying it, and actually saying you're sorry ain't the same thing." Astrid said dryly. "And I still might take you up on your offer, so I'd watch your back if I were you."

"Oh, I'm so happy you've returned!" Walter cried and wrapped his arms around her in a quick embrace. He let her go before she could even protest and Peter noticed wetness around his eyes as he looked back at him. "Peter! Aspirin came back!"

"I can see that, Walter." he replied. "You know, your apology would probably sound a little more sincere if you actually knew her name. It's Astrid...for the one thousandth time." He glanced over at her. "Why'd you come back to this freak show, anyway? I thought you would've asked for a transfer…after what happened."

Astrid shrugged, looking around the lab. "Maybe I'm too forgiving, but somebody's gotta clean up this mess." She moved closer to him, narrowing her eyes on his face. "Jesus, Peter! What happened to your face? "

"He was kidnapped and tortured!" Walter said in a stricken voice, stepping up beside her.

"Oh my god! I didn't realize..." she asked, her face full of concern. "Are you okay?"

"Agent Dunham saved him!" his father said with pride, all traced of his prior distress gone in an instant. "I knew she could do it! I never doubted her for an instant!" He clapped his hands together triumphantly.

Peter rolled his eyes at Astrid. "I'm fine." he said, and bent over to pick up another box. He winced involuntarily at the sharp pain in chest. "Just a little banged up, that's all."

Astrid moved to his side, taking the box from his arms. "That look on your face tells me you're a little more than banged up." she said pointedly. "I'll make you a deal. I'll clean this up…if you play us something." She nodded her head in the toward the squat upright piano sitting next to the old tank.

"Ah…that would be lovely!" Walter exclaimed happily, walking over to the piano. "Come and sit down, son." He gestured down at the piano bench excitedly.

Peter set the box down on the table, looking back and forth between his father and the junior agent. They seemed quite insistent. Who was he to argue? He shrugged and moved over to the piano. At least his injuries were good for something; he was not at all ashamed to claim the sympathy vote. Sitting down on the bench, he pushed back the piano cover, and ran his fingers down the keys. The cut he'd received on the index finger of his left hand, courtesy of the trunk latch from his abductor's car, throbbed a little, but not enough to impede his playing.

He ran through the old warm up routine he remembered from when he was a boy, letting his fingers stretch out, then finally settled into an old jazz tune he remembered hearing live at a little bar in Nashville, Tennessee of all places. Or at least the vague impressions his memory gave him of the performance. It was the song that had inspired him to learn to play jazz piano, poorly in his opinion, but he tried.

.

While he played softly in the background, Walter and Astrid began putting the lab back together. The two of them picked up the dumped over shelves and began reorganizing the file boxes into something resembling order, with Walter complaining mightily at Astrid's suggestion that organizing them alphabetically might be the better option.

Smiling to himself at the scene, he dug into the music, letting himself play without thinking, his hands and fingers moving almost instinctually over the keys. He had just reached the point where he'd been able to start improvising when he'd stopped playing altogether, about the time he'd realized that with his genius he could make quite a bit of easy money, if he didn't mind taking a few risks here and there.

Peter wasn't sure how long he'd been playing for when a box was unceremoniously set down on the back of the piano directly in front of him. He looked up, startled by the sudden movement. Shifting his head to the side, he looked around the corner of the box and saw Astrid's curious gaze.

"Hey, I found this box of stuff." she said, moving to the side so he didn't have to crane his neck to see her. "It was over in corner by itself. It looks like most of the stuff from your table, along with these." She held up the photograph of him and his father, taken when he was a boy, along with his birth certificate.

The box was the one he'd been attempting to leave with when he'd been interrupted by the man in the lab the day before.

_Shit. _He'd forgotten all about it.

Peter's eyes darted over to Walter, checking to see if he was paying any attention to the two of them. His father's head was bobbing slightly to the repeating rhythm he'd been playing since Astrid had spoken, as he reassembled his chemistry apparatus on one of the lab counters. When he looked back at her, she was eyeing him suspiciously.

"What was this stuff even doing in a box, Peter?" Astrid questioned, leaning forward on her elbows over the back of the piano.

Peter's normally quick witted mind failed him completely as he fished around for a suitable explanation, and came up empty. He licked his lips, glancing back at his father. Astrid's eyes went wide and she looked over at Walter, then back to him. He opened his mouth to say…something, but she overrode him.

"Were you gonna leave? You were, weren't you?" she whispered fiercely, moving around the piano to stand beside him, using her height go good advantage with him sitting down. "That's why you were even in the lab in the first place! To get this…stuff!" She looked as if she were considering hitting him.

"Look Astrid," Peter hissed, keeping his eyes on Walter, who wasn't paying the two of them any attention. "I…I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere."

"But you were going to." she stated, raising her eyebrows as if daring him to contradict her. "Don't bother denying it. There's no other reason all of your things would be in a box." she said, crossing her arms under her breasts. "Does Olivia know?"

Peter sighed and looked down at his hands in defeat. "Yes," he admitted finally, "Olivia knew."

"But why?"

He shrugged, keeping his fingers moving over the keys. "It doesn't matter now."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" she whispered. "You were going to leave! What about your father?"

"Something happened to me yesterday that opened my eyes." Peter said, and then grunted, thinking about the machine and the Observer...and Olivia. "Actually, it was several things. All I know is, that I can't leave...not now."

Astrid studied him, her heading nodding slowly. "If you say so." she said doubtfully. After a moment she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. "I found your cell phone here last night, all smashed to pieces. It must have been broken in your struggle with that man. So I got you a new one before I came in this morning... It's all set up, same number." She put the phone on top of the piano back. "I'm glad you're okay, Peter."

Peter looked up at her gratefully. She was too good for them, for him and his father. "Thank you, Astrid." he said, and held her gaze for a moment. "You know, there wasn't really a struggle. The guy shot me with some kind of...I dunno...a concussion or stun rifle...thing. I've ever seen anything like it."

"Really?" Astrid asked, staring at him doe-eyed. She sounded a little uneasy, but also excited at the same time. "…What have we gotten ourselves into here?"

"I don't know..." he said, shaking his head. "But it's why I had to stay...part of the reason at least."

Astrid was silent for a moment, and glanced over at his father before turning back to him. "You know, that's kind of why I didn't ask for a transfer." she admitted. "If there was a chance your father was telling the truth...it's kinda big, you know what I mean?"

Peter nodded, thinking of the things he'd said at the hospital the night before to Olivia. Before he could say anything more, his new cell phone rang. Grabbing it up with his right hand, he continued to play softly with his left hand as he answered it.

"Hello?"

"Peter! It's me."

He recognized Olivia's voice at once.

"Olivia." Peter smiled, glancing over at Astrid, who if he wasn't mistaken was holding back a grin as she watched him. "What's going on?" he said, throwing a glare in Astrid's direction. She rolled her eyes, and then grabbed his box of things and deposited it on his work table.

"We've got a case." Olivia replied. "Is your father around? We'll need him to come to the scene with us."

"We're both at the lab." he said, craning his neck to hold the phone in place as he began playing with both hands again.

Olivia hesitated, "Peter…you can take a day off if you need to recov-"

"Olivia, I'm fine, really." he interrupted. "Now what's the case?"

She was silent for a moment before responding. "I'll let you know when we get there." she said. "We're about fifteen minutes from Harvard."

"Well, I'll be waiting with bated breath for your arrival, Agent Dunham." he quipped.

"Bye, Peter." she said, and he thought detected a touch of amusement in her tone before she ended the call.

Peter set the phone down on the bench next to him, and began to play the old Gershwin tune he'd played for Olivia after the Roy Mccomb case. Her offer to let him have the day off was tempting, but…he found that once he'd committed himself, he had an eagerness driving him that had been absent before. Instead of just observing and throwing the occasional comments out while making sure Walter didn't kill anyone, he wanted to actively contribute. It was an odd feeling, he couldn't think of the last legitimate job he'd where he had actually wanted to be there.

He glanced over the top of piano at Walter, who had his chemistry set reassembled and was already busy heating a flask filled with a brownish liquid over a Bunsen burner. Astrid had retreated to her workstation and was busily tapping away at her keyboard. "Walter!" he said, narrowing his eyes at the scene in front of him. "What are you doing over there?"

His father glanced over at him through the clear safety goggles he had donned, "I told you, Peter." he said, slipping on a pair of red, heat-resistant gloves "My attempt to discover the perfect root beer recipe was destroyed by that man. I must now start anew." He grabbed the flask off the burner and held it up in front of him, swirling the liquid inside with a shake. "From your choice of song, I presume that was Agent Dunham on the telephone?" he asked, sniffing at the vapors rising out of the neck of the flask. He jerked his face away with a disgusted look.

"Yes, it was." Peter answered distractedly, focusing on his hands. The cut on his left index finger was beginning to throb a little more than it had been. "We have a new case."

"Oh?" Walter said. "So soon?"

"Apparently," he replied dryly, "the mad scientists and terrorists of the world don't realize that it's good form to wait a week in between each experiment on unsuspecting civilians. Who new?" he said, raising his shoulders.

Astrid giggled from her workstation as Walter carried his hot flask over to the sink set into a countertop.

"Did she say what it was about?" he asked, pouring out the hot liquid and sending a cloud of steam upwards, giving off a sweet, sickly smell.

"Who, Olivia?" Peter said, and shook his head. "No. She said she'll tell us when she gets here." He looked over at the clock on the wall. "Which should be very soon."

"How are you feeling, son?" Walter said, turning on the faucet and rinsing out his flask.

"I've never been better." he said sarcastically.

"Oh? You look quite the opposite."

Peter's hands paused on the keyboard as he thought of the endless questions his father had thrown at him the night before. They had been almost entirely about the man who'd abducted him; what he'd said, what he'd done, as well as about the machine and how he'd used it. It had been almost three o'clock the last time he had looked at the clock before Walter had finally passed out.

"Maybe that's cause I had a little trouble sleeping last night." he said grumpily, and resumed his playing.

"Oh, I had trouble sleeping myself." Walter admitted. "I was thinking about that man…the one who tortured you."

Peter stopped playing again, as his mind going back to the moment and the despair, strapped to the table. He swallowed, and took up where he'd left off, letting the music soothe his nerves.

"Something about him…so familiar." his father mused, leaning over the sink. "Peter…when I was in St. Claire's-"

"We don't have to talk about this." Peter said. "It's not important."

"But it is important." his father said, spinning from the sink, and hurrying over to the piano. He leaned over the back, a look of almost desperation on his face. "You cannot imagine…what it's like for a man like me, to…to not have access to parts of his mind."

Peter stared up at him, thinking of his father's apology to Astrid, how sincerely he'd spoken the words. He'd apparently tried to apologize at the Federal Building as well, which had been news to him. It didn't excuse what he had done, but at least he was trying to make amends.

"You're doing just fine, Walter." he said, giving him a little smile.

Walter lips pinched together and he stared down at his hands on the piano back. He looked up and nodded uncertainly, his eyes glistening. He looked like he was about to saying something more, when the lab doors banged open and Agent Broyles entered, followed by Olivia.

"Dr. Bishop, Peter." Broyles said, moving quickly down the steps. He looked over at Astrid. "Agent Farnsworth."

Peter got from the piano bench and moved over to one of the lab tables. "Ah…visiting hours." he said, looking at Walter and Astrid with a grin. "Everybody put on their best straight jacket."

Broyles ignored his quip as he placed a file down on the table in front of him. Olivia stepped up beside him, wearing her dark overcoat and a gray cotton shirt. Peter's eyes were drawn to an odd-looking pendant resting between the swells of her breasts. It was hanging from a gold necklace, and was the first piece of jewelry of any kind he'd ever seen her wear. Up until that point, he'd assumed she was one of those women who didn't wear jewelry. He filed the information away as Broyles began to speak.

"At approximately 10:17 am," he began, "a massive power surge struck a downtown high-rise in Worcester. As a result, an elevator on the twenty-sixth floor plummeted straight to the basement." he said grimly, glancing between him and his father. "Eight passengers died."

Peter frowned, thinking of what he knew of elevators. There were normally all kinds of safety mechanisms in place to make sure what Broyles had just said could never happen. "Did the cables snap?" he asked.

"That's what's strange." Olivia answered, looking over at him. "The elevator didn't fall. It drove itself into the ground."

"That's not possible." Peter said, shaking his head and drawing everyone's attention.

"What do you mean?" Astrid asked, who had joined them at the table.

"Well," he began, rubbing at his scruff as he spoke. "Unless you're talking about an elevator made prior to the mid-nineteenth century…which I assume it's a modern elevator, correct?" He threw a hand toward Olivia, who nodded. "Then there are so many redundant safety devices installed, that the odds of all of them going out at once, is…well…I would say it's impossible, but I guess you wouldn't be here if it were."

"Is that true, Dr. Bishop?" Broyles said, turning to his father.

Walter shrugged. "I have no idea." he said. "I've never been all that interested in elevators. But my son is a smart boy. Did you know his IQ is only few points below mine, Agent Broyles?"

Broyles gazed at him for a moment, eyes narrowed, and then opened the file on the table. "Nine months ago, a maglev train in Tokyo plowed through a crowded station." he said, picking up several photographs from the file folder and passing them around the group.

Peter bent over the photos, examining them closely. The first picture was of the crumpled remains of several sleek bullet train cars, flipped on their side. They were lying diagonally to one another, as train cars tended to do when the lead car came to a sudden stop. Another photo showed an excavator attempting to separate the twisted wreckage, the force behind the crash having plowed some of the cars into the ground.

"Publicly, the crash reported as human error." Broyles continued. "In reality, it was caused by a power surge of unknown origin. Intelligence chatter speculated that it might be a demonstration of a new weapon technology."

"It's possible that this morning event was another demonstration of that technology." Olivia said.

Walter stared down at the photographs, his eyes deep in thought. "To override the elevator's circuitry would require a... a discharge of immense power and precision." he said finally. "I'm not certain how one would go about doing such a thing."

"And not only that," Peter interjected, looking between Olivia and Broyles. "But the safety devices I mentioned earlier? Some of them aren't even electrical in nature, for that very reason."

Broyles exchanged glances with Olivia. "I've made arrangements for you to be received at the building." he told her. "We need to know what happened, how it happened, and who's behind it. And we need to know it now."

Olivia nodded. "We'll get right on it, sir." she said, looking over at Peter and his father, her eyebrows arched. "You two ready to go see the impossible?"

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**So I decided to do Power Hungry after all. Here's the first chapter. Enjoy and let me know if it's a good start! Thanks for reading. :))**


	35. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

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**-Herndon Building, Worcester, Ma**

**Olivia** led the Bishops through the narrow gap between two media vans and into the crowd of onlookers surrounding the entrance to the parking garage of the Herndon Building. The structure in question was a medium-sized office building, about thirty stories tall, with alternating rows of anodized metal panels and lightly tinted windows, through which she spotted the familiar sight of office cubicles honeycombing most of the floors. After much jostling and complaining from civilians trying to get about view of the scene, they finally arrived at the yellow police tape cordoning off the area. She glanced back over her shoulder, making sure that Peter and Walter were still with her; several of the onlookers had required her to flash her badge before they had let her through. Peter gave her a nod and a little salute as he propelled Walter forward with a hand at his back.

Several local cops stood on the opposite side of the yellow barrier, making sure none of the curious got too close. The officer guarding the section of tape where they had emerged from the crowd looked up at her approach. He was on the younger side, and she estimated him to be at least five years her junior probably closer to ten. It was unlikely he would give her any trouble. In her experience it was usually the older, more experienced cops who had issues with _'the Feds'_, as she'd heard herself referred to as more than once in the past.

Pulling out her identification, with the her picture and the FBI insignia blasoned across the front, and held it up for his inspection.

"I'm Special Agent Olivia Dunham, with the FBI." she announced to the officer as the Bishops stepped up beside her. "These two men are consulting for the Bureau, and will be visiting the scene with me." she said, holding hand toward the father and son.

"They got any ID?" the young officer asked, taking in Peter's rumpled look and obvious injuries along with Walter's obsequious smile, with a frown.

Peter reached inside his jacket and pulled out his new civilian consultant ID card, which was hanging on a string around his neck. "Peter Bishop, Department of Homeland Security." he stated, sounding like he'd been saying it his whole life. "This is Dr. Walter Bishop, also with DHS."

Walter held out a hand, which the officer shook hesitantly, glancing at their identification. "How are you doing, young man?"

"I thought this was just an elevator accident." the policeman said nervously, looking at the three of them. "Was it some kind of attack?"

"We're not at liberty to discuss ongoing investigations." Olivia said smoothly, falling back to her catch-all. She would almost prefer the hostility of an older cop now to all this curiosity.

"What happened to your face?" he said, looking at Peter. "That looks like it hurt."

Olivia watched Peter out of the corner of her eye, interested to see what he would say after the whole DHS thing. She had struggled to keep her face straight when he had broken that out.

"I'm afraid that's classified." Peter said seriously. "Now, if you could..." He gestured toward the yellow tape, and stared at with raised eyebrows.

"Oh!" the young officer exclaimed. "You guys need to get down there."

"Yeah." Olivia said giving him a terse smile.

The man lifted the yellow tape and stepped aside, allowing them to pass by. When they were out of earshot and moving down the ramp toward the parking garage she looked over at Peter, raising an eyebrow.

"Department of Homeland Security?" she said quizzically.

Peter grinned back at her, his eyes filled with mirth. "I'm just practicing for those tickets." he smirked. "It's gonna work beautifully."

Olivia exchanged glances worriedly with him, trying to gauge his seriousness. She had hoped he was joking back at the hospital. If Broyles found out...

"I'm just kidding." he mouthed silently, shaking his head.

She flashed him a semi-playful glare, finding his teasing not at all funny. His grin only widened as they made eye contact. Before he could reply, Walter pushed his way between them.

"What tickets, Peter?" he said excitedly. There was a hopeful expression on his wrinkled face. "I...I would really like to go see a play, sometime. Maybe a musical. Wouldn't that be wonderful, son?" He held up a finger, waggling it in front of him. "I read in the paper that there's adaptation of _Xanadu _on Broadway this year." he said suggestively.

"Hmm..." Peter mused. "Let's see...a musical adaptation of possibly one of the worst movies ever made." He looked over at her, rolling his eyes. "What could possibly go wrong?"

Olivia curled one corner of her mouth up at his cheerful temperament, but made no reply. It was a good sign. He appeared to have recovered from his ordeal the day before. At least on the inside, the purple bruising under his eyes and around his nose still looked rather ghoulish.

They descended the ramp toward flashing blue and red lights reflecting off the concrete from a police cruiser, parked just inside the entrance, and prohibiting any vehicles from entering or leaving the scene. Beyond the police cruiser were several ambulances, some with their paramedics sitting uselessly on the on bumper of their vehicle, while others were standing in a group discussing the elevator malfunction, judging by the gestures they were making toward the back of the garage. There was another line of yellow tape, blocking off the space from anyone attempting to enter the garage from the interior of the building.

No one made any attempt at stopping them as they moved past the second yellow tape and toward several more police cars parked farther into the interior of the garage, in front of which stood a group of uniformed policemen talking with a man in a suit wearing a white hard hat. He looked like he might be important, possibly the man they were there to see.

Taking the lead, Olivia moved in front of the Bishops and approached the man, pulling out her ID on the way. He turned away from the officers as she came to a stop at his side, looking at her with curious eyes.

"Can I help you?" he asked, stepping away from the circle of men.

"Yes." Olivia replied formally. "I'm looking for whoever's in charge of this facility? I was told by my superior that they would be expecting me."

"Would that be an Agent Broyles?"

"That's him." she said, holding up her ID. "Olivia Dunham, FBI."

"I'm Peter Simmons, the building's engineer." he said, extending his hand.

She took it without hesitation, giving it a shake and then releasing. She gestured back at the Bishops. "This is my team, Peter Bishop and Dr. Walter Bishop."

Peter Simmons gave the Bishops a nod of greeting, and then turned toward the rear of the building and began moving toward a pair of elevator doors, one of which was open, with its doors hanging crookedly on the far side of the garage.

"I assume you've been briefed on what's happened, then?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder at her.

Olivia nodded affirmative, and glanced at a woman pushing a stretcher past them in the opposite direction. There was a black bodybag lying on it, and it was obviously holding a body, judging by the lumpy form running its length. The sight irked her, as it meant that her scene was being disturbed.

"The damn hoist lowered the elevator straight into the floor at speeds...far exceeding its rating." Simmons said as they approached the open elevator door. "The motor's burned out and all the fuses are blown, like there was some kind of massive power surge. I've never seen anything like it."

Olivia looked back meaningfully at Peter at the mention of a power surge. He nodded faintly in agreement.

"Shouldn't the brakes have come on automatically?" Peter asked, moving up between herself and the engineer. "What about the over-speed governor?"

"Well that's the thing." Simmons replied, stopping at several portable worktables that had been setup near the elevator doors. Their surfaces were littered with metal parts and pieces, which she assumed were the mechanical workings of the elevator. "The brakes should have come on automatically when the power flickered."

Peter nodded as if that made sense to him, and she looked at him with raised brows, hoping for some clarification.

Seeing the look on her face, he explained. "Elevator brakes are made to automatically engage if the building loses power." He looked over at Simmons, "So what happened here?"

Simmons picked up heavy-looking part, curved on one side with a wide flat surface. "The brakes are completely fused in the open position, all of them." He passed the greasy part to Peter, who looked it over with interest. "As for the governor, my man in the shaft is telling me it's fused in the same way, which technically, should be-"

"Impossible?" Peter finished for him. "We're seeing a lot of that lately."

"I see you know your elevators." he said, sounding impressed with the younger Bishop's knowledge.

"Former MIT drop-out." Peter muttered, half out loud and passed the part back to the other man.

Simmons frowned, and placed the broken brake part back on the table. Walter, who she'd noticed hadn't said much up to that point quickly snapped it up. He turned it over in his hands, examining it closely. Olivia watched him for a moment, imagining the gears turning in his peculiar mind as his fingers rubbed at a black spot on one side of the metal part. His eyes unfocused after a moment, and he stared upwards, as if he were thinking deeply.

"C'mon, Walter." Peter called to his father as the engineer led them toward the open elevator doors.

"Is there as any camera footage of this area?" Olivia asked, noting several cameras mounted near the ceiling. Several were pointed in the vicinity of the elevator doors.

"Nope." he answered, shaking his head. "All the cameras are frizzed. Nothing but static."

Near the broken elevators doors stood a group of men wearing hard hats, staring in at the interior of the elevator car. From the grimaces she saw on their faces, not all of the bodies had been removed, which mollified her earlier irritation somewhat at the sight of a body being removed.

"Hey, can you people move out of there?" Simmons said as they approached. "FBI coming through."

After the men had vacated the area in front of the elevator, Olivia spotted several bodies lying in a tangled mass on the elevator floor. The lights from the parked emergency vehicles illuminated them in flashes of red and blue, creating a macabre strobe effect, which her impeccable memory unfortunately recorded for her later perusal. There was a burnt smell lingering in the elevator, similar to that of melted plastic, mixed with some other smell she couldn't identify, an acrid odor that made her nose twitch. She ran her eyes over the corpses, observing a woman lying near the back of the elevator, half on top of an older man wearing a dark business suit and tie. There was a dusty briefcase still clutched in one of the man's hands, which appeared to be scorched on one corner if she wasn't mistaken. Closer to the broken elevator door was a young woman lying on her side, her legs curled up behind her. She might have looked asleep if it weren't for the way her torso was twisted in an unnatural way.

Walter stepped up next to her, staring in the jumbled bodies with interest. Peter hung back, allowing his father take the lead with the inspection of the bodies. Olivia thought he wasn't quite over his squeamishness around dead bodies yet. She watched him surreptitiously as his lips contorted with a slight grimace while looking over his father's shoulder. His uneasiness at the disturbing visage made her self-conscious of her own lack of reaction from the scene. She remembered being that way too, once upon a time, but somewhere along the way things had just…stopped affecting her and became almost normal. The contrast made her feel less human, somehow. She shook off the feeling, as there were more important things to worry about at the moment.

"So what could cause the elevator to lower itself so quickly?" she asked the engineer, glancing over at him as he watched Walter crouch down over the bodies.

Simmons shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know." he said, with a troubled look. "It's almost like one of the generators came online, jacked into the system, and overloaded the hoist motor with double or triple the amperage. It just doesn't make any sense."

Walter moved forward, crouching down over one of the women's body. He grabbed the her wrist, turning it over in his hand. There was a pearl necklace around the woman's neck, and Olivia found herself wondering if it had been a gift from a loved one, maybe a husband or a parent, who would soon be receiving a painful phone call. Walter let go of her arm and gently turned her head from side to side. He ran his fingers over a wound on her neck, which Olivia couldn't quite make out in the darkened interior. She moved inside the elevator, trying to get a better look.

"Exit wound burns…subconjuctival hemorrhages." Walter murmured, and then looked up at her. "This woman displays all of the symptoms of a classic-"

"Thermoelectric trauma." Peter supplied, moving to her side in front of the open elevator door.

Olivia glanced between him and his father. "What are you two saying?" she asked, confused by the surprise in Peter's voice.

"He's saying that all these people were electrocuted." Peter replied.

"Electrocuted?" she said, staring at him.

Peter nodded, and she turned back to Walter, who was pushing off one knee and climbing to his feet.

"May I?" he said, gesturing toward her chest.

Feeling puzzled, Olivia glanced down at her pendant, and then over at Peter, who raised his shoulders in a shrug. Curious to see what Walter was getting at, she reached up and unclasped her necklace, and then dropped it in the elder Bishop's hand.

"Oh, that's lovely." Walter said, holding the necklace up by each of the clasps, the pendant sagging in the middle. "Twenty-four carat gold. Traces of nickel…possibly cobalt." As he spoke, he moved the necklace from side to side, and up and down in the space in front of him, as if he were searching for something.

Olivia exchanged looks with Peter again, and saw the he was just as bewildered as she was by his father's actions. _At least I'm not the only one who doesn't know what the hell is going on. _

Walter continued moving the pendant around for a few more minutes until finally, he sighed, letting out a concentrated breath. Keeping his eyes on the pendant, he slowly lowered each of the clasps. Olivia watched with wide eyes as the pendant, which had been sagging under its own weight, remained stationary as Walter let go of the two clasps.

She glanced at Peter, who looked just as shocked as she felt, and then back to the pendant, which was floating untouched by human hands, the two ends of the necklace dangling beneath. It quivered slightly as if it was vibrating, and she met Walter's eyes again. He seemed mildly amused by their reaction.

"How are you doing that?" she asked him in a whisper.

"This entire space is charged with electromagnetic energy," Walter replied in a low voice. "far beyond that which occurs in nature...there's still residual magnetic energy from whatever electrocuted these people." He looked down at the contorted figures lying at his feet. "I'll need to examine the victims' belongings, and one of the bodies as well."

"Are you saying you may know how this happened?"

Walter shook his head. "No, not yet." he said firmly. "But I can tell you that every one of the passengers in this elevator was dead by the time they hit the ground."

"Who are you people?" Simmons said faintly, staring at the floating pendant with bulging eyes. "What the hell is going on here? How can you possibly know that?"

Olivia met Peter's gaze, and she inclined her head toward the gaping building engineer, directing him with her eyes to get rid of the man. Peter nodded once and turned to the distraught man.

"Mr. Simmons," Peter said pleasantly, turning the man's attention from Walter and the floating pendant. "I'm going to need you to show me any other parts that were fused in the same manner as the brake shoe." He directed the engineer back toward the portable worktables. "You mentioned something about the governor..."

The two men moved out of range and Olivia turned to Walter who was staring at the floating pendant, still fascinated by the sight. It was very surreal, but she found it somewhat comforting knowing that it was rooted firmly in science, and Walter would do his best to explain it to her if she asked. Though without Peter to translate, the chances of her understanding the old scientist were somewhere between slim and none.

Olivia reached out and grabbed for the pendant hesitantly, half expecting to feel some kind of shock, or at least _something_, but there was nothing to feel, just air. She closed her fingers around the cool metal and plucked it off the invisible cushion it was resting on. Walter blinked, and focused on the spot it had been in before his eyes shifted to her, though they were strangely unfocused, like he was looking through her. His eyes were a cloudy blue, but it was the shape of them that she recognized. She wondered how she'd never seen the resemblance to Peter's own blue eyes in his father's before that moment.

"Walter?" she said uncertainly.

"Eh?" he said, and a ripple ran through him, like he was coming out of a trance. "Yes dear?" he said, and she watched has his attention sharpened to a point on her.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, reattaching the necklace around her neck and slipping it inside the neck of her shirt.

"Ahh...yes." he said with a smile. "I was merely trying to recollect where or...when I have seen this phenomenon before." He rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger. "It reminds me of something..." His voice trailed off and he stared wistfully off into space. "I just can't place it." He let out a little giggle, making her uncomfortably aware he'd been in a mental institution not long ago. "It's funny… for some reason I keep picturing an image of a dead bird when I look at these bodies."

_A dead bird?_

"Well, do you...need anything else in here?" Olivia asked, glancing back out into the parking garage.

Peter seemed to have soothed the building engineer's fraught nerves, as they were both bent over one of the worktables, with the older man pointing gesturing at an object on the table between them. Peter said something in response and Simmons laughed, shaking his head at the quip.

"No…I think I'm quite ready to leave." Walter said, brushing past her. "I believe one of these bodies may have had a postmortem evacuation." His lips were pinched with distaste as he exited the elevator.

Olivia watched him for a brief moment before following him back into the parking garage. She ran a hand over her pulled-back hair, thinking about how strange her life had become since the Bishops had entered it. As Walter joined Peter and Simmons, she pulled out her phone, running through the list of calls she needed to make.

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The sound of a shout from the basement storage room drew Olivia's attention from the file she had been given by Herndon Building engineer, Peter Simmons. She'd been poring over the data from the building management system, looking for any anomalies in the sensor data from the elevator control system. She looked up as Walter came stomping up the steps, his lined face creased in a grin of jubilation. Closing the file, she put it down and pushed away from the table she'd been leaning against and followed him over the gurney, which bore the body he'd selected for study. Peter and Astrid were already there, having been prepping his surgical tools the upcoming...autopsy, or whatever it was he wanted the body for. She came to a stop next to Walter, noting in the back of her mind the space between Peter and Astrid as they stood at the foot of the stretcher waiting for him to explain. Forcing herself not to stare, her thoughts went back to what had happened earlier.

After they had arrived back at the lab, Walter had retreated to the basement, muttering something about needing to jog his memory. While they were waiting, Peter had shown Astrid how to sharpen the scalpels using an old sharpening stone his father had found somewhere in the bowels of his storage room. Olivia had found herself watching intently from her desk in her office, unable to look away as Peter had reached over the junior agent's shoulder to show her the proper technique. When Astrid had let out a soft giggle at something he had said, she felt an unexpected prick of irritation, which she refused to label, and wondered when the two of them had grown so close.

"Good news!" Walter said excitedly, drawing her thoughts back to the matter at hand. "I have successfully remembered what it was I was trying to remember!"

Peter frowned at his father, crossing his tightly arms across his chest. "Okay…?" he said, and waited for an explanation. When none was forthcoming, he pointed down at the dead man's corpse on the gurney between them. "Well…if you're not gonna tell us, can we at least get started on the autopsy?"

Walter nodded, "Yes, of course." he said, then held up a finger. "Although, we're not performing an autopsy, Peter."

"We're not?" Astrid said, taken aback.

"Of course not, young lady." Walter scoffed, picking up a pair of latex gloves from the table next to him. "This man died from electrocution…it's not exactly a mystery." he said with a frown, looking at her with disappointment. "No…we must do something else entirely." He pulled on one of the gloves with a snap.

Olivia exchanged confused looks with Peter. "What do you mean, Walter?" she said. "If we're not doing an autopsy, what do you need this body for?"

"Why…to remove his heart, of course." Walter said nonchalantly, pulling on the other glove. "How else will I be able to test out my theory?" He picked up one of the freshly sharpened scalpels, testing its edge with a callused thumb. "Good work, son, good work." he drawled in appreciation. "This should make short work of our friend here."

Peter grunted, "Sure, let's just cut this poor bastard's heart out." he said sarcastically, rubbing at the nape of his neck. "Why not? That sounds like a lot of fun, Walter."

"It does, doesn't it?" his father said with a grin, which Olivia could only describe as insane. "You'll want some gloves, Peter. It could get rather messy."

Peter's gaze shifted to her, his eyebrows arched in a question. She considered for a moment, and then nodded her assent. As crazy as Walter sounded, their only choice was to trust that he had some hunch he was following, they had no other leads. Peter's eyes widened for a moment with surprise, and then he swallowed, and returned the nod reluctantly, picking up another pair of gloves and slipping them on.

Olivia stepped back and leaned against a countertop out of the way as they got started, with Astrid joining her a moment later. She'd seen autopsies performed before, but they weren't exactly on her list of things she liked seeing up close and personal if she could avoid it. As the men worked, she rather enjoyed watching the little expressions passing across Peter's face as he leaned over the corpse, assisting his father when needed. At first it was just a widening of his eyes as his father made the first incision with the scalpel. When Walter produced a small electric saw, she saw shades of green appear on his cheeks and was worried he might get sick for a moment as his father began cutting through the breastbone. By the time they were ready for the chest retractor, he seemed to have recovered and was doing an admirable job of maintaining his composure, at least until Walter slowly cranked the chest cavity open. She covered her mouth as he let out a groan and spun away from the body, his face contorted with revulsion.

"Jesus…" he muttered, and nearly wiped his mouth with the back of one of his bloody gloves, only stopping himself just in time. "Before we started this, I was thinking about eating something today." he said, staring down at his blood covered hands. "Now…not so much." Olivia kept her smile hidden behind her hand as his eyes shifted from Astrid, who was grinning openly at his discomfort, to her. "You know, either of you two lovely ladies can take over anytime, feel free." He thrust his hands toward the gurney.

"I think you're doing a fine job, Mr. Bishop." Olivia said, keeping her face straight.

"Yep, a fine job." Astrid chimed in, giving him a thumbs up.

Peter shook his head, giving them both a scowl, which turned into slow grin after several moments. "Someday-" he started, pointing a bloody finger at them.

"Peter, I need you." Walter said, looking up from the chest cavity.

Gritting his teeth, Peter flashed them a playful glare, then turned back to the body, and bent over it opposite his father. He appeared determined to not be affected by the proximity this time.

"Hold here." Walter said, nodding his head. "Just a few more incisions and we'll have it."

Peter reached into the chest cavity with both hands as his father grabbed the scalpel from the tray next to the gurney. Olivia moved closer, getting a better look at what the men were doing. Peter was holding the man's innards to one side as his father reached in with the scalpel and began making the final cuts.

"So are you gonna tell us what this theory of yours is, Walter?" Peter said, turning his head to the side, away from the body.

Walter glanced up at him, then back down to his hands. "Yes. I believe that I will." he said, running his tongue back and forth across his upper teeth in concentration as he made another cut. "It was the birds, if you'll remember, Agent Dunham. I couldn't figure out why those bodies and the floating pendant in the elevator reminded me of dead birds. But when I was down in my storage room…looking through some of my old things, hoping something there would jog my memory, I came across Belly's old tesla coils and then it came to me." he said, straightening up for a moment, gesturing with the bloody scalpel. "I recalled Belly…attempting to make objects float, using the coils and a vacuum chamber, much like what happened in the elevator…of course, there wasn't much practical use for it…it was really more of a curiosity than anything, but nonetheless, he would occasionally succeed, depending on the substance and-."

"What does that have to do with the dead birds?" Olivia interrupted.

"Ahhh...that's a very astute question, dear." Walter said with approval as he bent back over the corpse with the scalpel. "The dead birds, your lovely floating necklace, and the bodies in the elevator all have one thing in common...they all encountered high levels of electromagnetic energy...and, here we are." he said, straightening up again, cupping the bloody heart gently in both hands. Placing it on down on a silver tray, he went on. "Energy from the tesla coils, in the case of the birds, and energy from our mysterious source, for the bodies in the elevator...and the necklace, I suppose." He turned back to the body, and folded a blue surgical over the gaping hole in dead man's chest with Astrid's help. "You see, I've worked on a project where I've seen this before. Finding Belly's coils brought it back to me. The government had asked me if it was possible to make a human being trackable by pigeons, hence the dead birds."

"Like...homing pigeons?" Peter said incredulously, holding his bloody hands out before him. "What possible use could that serve?"

"Well, I'm sure it had something to do with the commies." Walter said as he picked up the tray holding the heart and carried it over to another table across the lab. They all followed after him, curious to see what he would do next. "It always did back then. Regardless, our theory was that human beings are merely highly complex electrical systems." He picked up several metal clips off the table and handed them to Peter. "Would you, son?" he asked, pointing down at the heart.

"...Okay..." Peter said, and began clipping them to the heart.

Walter looked around the countertops near them, "Um... battery, please, Olivia." he said, gesturing behind her.

Olivia turned and found a large car battery sitting on the counter. She picked it up, and nearly dropped it on the floor at its unexpected weight. She lugged it over to the table and set it down next to the silver tray.

"The heart, the brain driven are by electrical impulses," Walter continued, watching Peter closely. "…and because everyone has a unique electromagnetic signature, like a fingerprint, then we theorized that properly altered...pigeons should be able to hone into that signature."

"Like the way they know how to fly south for the winter." Olivia said, understanding what he was getting at, but not the why of it.

"Precisely." Walter agreed, jabbing a finger at her. He grabbed a nearby surgical lamp and pulled it next to Peter, who had just finished attaching the metal clips to the heart. "But the human field was too weak, so we tried to augment it...make it strong enough for the birds to detect."

"Did it work?" Astrid asked, sounding fascinated.

"Oh, yes." he replied, nodding his head. "But the side effects negated our plans." His eyelids narrowed to a thin slit as he reminisced. "There was one test subject, every time she hiccupped, the lights would dim."

"So...you're saying that these people could, what...control electrical devices?" Peter asked, smiling at the prospect.

"No…not deliberately." Walter said, glancing up at him as he began to attach cables from the car batter to the metal clamps Peter had attached to the heart. "But I did surmise that it should be possible."

When he attached the final clamp, the heart began to move on the tray, constricting and then relaxing as if it were still pumping blood. Olivia felt her eyes go wide as she leaned back involuntarily. She caught motion out of the corner of her eyes on saw that Peter and Astrid and startled away from the table also.

"Woah..." Peter said, his mouth hanging open.

"Did you just make that heart come back to life?" Astrid said, pointing a finger toward the still beating heart. A few trickles of blood dripped from the cut arteries, and pooled on the tray underneath it.

"No...not in this particular instance." Walter answered, moving his head in close the heart, and watching it closely. "But it does confirm my theory." he said after a moment. He stood up straight, removing his blood-covered gloves, and moved toward the sink.

"What theory?" Olivia said, turning to follow him.

"Didn't I say?" Walter asked, looking back at her over his shoulder. He seemed confused by her question.

"No, Walter, you never actually told us." she said, shaking her head tenuously.

"Oh...well, someone has pursued this idea." he stated firmly, gesturing with both hands as he moved back to the heart and gazed down at it. "They have...amplified a person's electromagnetic field...and in fact, it is the residual energy from that _person_, that is making this heart pump." he said, crouching down to watch it at eye level. "And furthermore, it is that same person who is responsible for the deaths in the elevator."

"So you don't think it was a weapon that electrocuted those people?" Peter queried.

"Well, no..." Walter looked up him and shook his head. "It was a human being." he said, sounding very certain of himself.

"Okay…" Olivia began, tapping her clasped together hands against her lips, her thoughts racing. "Are we sure that this…person responsible, isn't one of your test subjects?"

Walter shook his head emphatically. "No, that would be highly improbable. The augmentations we made were never permanent."

"Why don't you try telling that to Roy Mccomb, Walter." Peter said skeptically, with a trace of the old anger he'd displayed during that case coming through in his tone. His jaw clenched and then unclenched and he sighed, shifting his attention from his father to the beating heart. "I think I've seen enough of this, haven't you?" He said, meeting her eye.

Olivia nodded, and he quickly unhooked the battery from the heart. It ceased its restless movement at once, to her relief. The silent pumping in the background had been getting distracting, and not a little unnerving.

"Walter, if it wasn't one of your test subjects," she said, attacking the problem from a different angle. "How would someone go about creating an…ability, like this in a person?"

Walter paced a few steps, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before answering. "It's difficult to say exactly how it could be done, of course…there are a number of ways to approach the problem, you see. But uh…I imagine that whoever did this…in addition to the chemical therapies similar to those we used in our experiments, this individual has had some sort of…procedures done on them, most likely extensive."

"You mean surgical procedures." Peter said, cringing as he picked up the heart and carried it back over the gurney. Astrid threw back the blue surgical blanket and he deposited it unceremoniously back in the dead man's chest.

"Oh yes, and they were probably very invasive." Walter agreed, moving toward the back of the lab. He looked back at the three of them. "Now…if you'll excuse me, I really need to empty my bowels."

"Way too much information, Walter." Peter called after him as he disappeared into labs only bathroom.

Olivia exchanged glances with Astrid, who rolled her eyes at the elder Bishop. Peter stripped off his gloves, tossing them into a trashcan. The three of them stared at each other in silence, until he crossed over to the table he'd claimed as his workspace.

"Well…what now, boss?" he said with a grin as he dropped onto the stool.

.

Later that evening, Olivia sat in her office at the Federal Building, trying to make sense of the book Peter had found for her among Walter's belongings. Before the Bishops had left the lab for the day, she'd asked him if he could look through his father's book collection, hoping Walter might have something with which she could try to familiarize herself on the subject matter. The heavy volume he'd returned with looked ancient, the pages faded near to yellow and it smelled faintly of mold. He had not been joking when he told her it wasn't exactly light reading, and that it might be more science fiction, than science fact. She had barely been able to make sense of the foreword, and despite having read almost two chapters, she doubted she would be able to summarize them, even if held at gunpoint.

With a tired sigh, she pulled off her reading glasses and rubbed at her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. Sitting on the desk next to the book, was her pen and pad of paper, on which she'd planned on jotting down anything relevant. It was completely untouched, as she'd yet to comprehend the subject matter enough to even to know what might possibly be important. Though it was beginning to feel like a waste of time, she slipped her glasses back in place and hunched over the book again, determined to make sense of it.

The thought that she could give Peter a call crossed her mind, and she considered doing so for a moment. He would probably be willing to meet her at the lab or even at the Federal Building, and help her muddle through it if she asked him to. After a minute or two of deliberation, she discarded the idea. Spending time with him during the day, in the field or at the lab with the others was one thing. Doing so late at night, alone with him in the lab, or even her office there was something else altogether. Her relationship with John had started with a similar, seemingly innocent after hours meeting to work on a case together. It had ended with him dying in her arms, branded a traitor.

There was a sudden, sharp stab of pain in behind her eyes, causing her to wince and rub at her temples with both hands, massaging with gentle pressure until it subsided. _Great,_ she thought with irritation. _Just what I need at the moment._ Looking down at her desk, she waited to see if the headache would return.

A cup of coffee was suddenly placed in front of her, and she jerked her head up, startled at the intrusion.

"Here." Broyles said, standing in front of her desk, staring at her impassively. "You look like you could use some."

Olivia stared at him, wondering where he had come from. She hadn't even heard her office door open. "Thanks." she said after a moment, smiling wide at the thoughtful gesture. "You're right, I could use some, it's getting pretty late." She took a sip, and looked up at him. "I thought you left hours ago."

"I could say the same about you." he said, and glanced down at Walter's book, his eyes narrowing as he read the header on the page she had open. "_Neural distortion in human subjects_." he read out loud. "And what's all this for?"

Olivia shrugged uncomfortably, unsure whether or not her superior would believe that a person could have abilities like those Walter had described. "I…uh…I'm just trying to wrap my head around an idea Walter had." she said haltingly. "He…believes that it may be a person who was responsible for the Herndon incident, but…not a person wielding some kind of device." She looked up at him, reading his face for any signs of disbelief. Seeing none, she went on. "A person who has somehow developed or been given the ability to…affect, or maybe even control, electrical devices."

Broyles eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Really." he said dubiously. "And I suppose the good doctor has a theory on how that's possible?"

"Well, he thinks this person was altered in some way." she explained. "Extensive procedures, chemical therapies..." She broke off as Broyles posture stiffened, and she saw a light of recognition on his face. "What?"

He hesitated, and then sat down in the chair in front of her desk. "In the course of investigating other pattern cases, we've come across a handful of clinics." he said, crossing his hands over one knee. "Off the grid operations that solicited clients by making the same kinds of claims you see advertised on tv at three am." He paused, and then went in a darker voice. "Only they weren't actually providing weight loss or hair growth."

"What were they really doing?" she asked, though she didn't it would be hard to guess.

"Have you ever heard of a man named Jacob Fischer?"

Olivia thought for a moment, trying to ignore the sudden return of her headache. It was less severe than it had been, but still bothersome. The name wasn't familiar to her. "No." she said. "I don't think so."

"He was a Doctor of Biotechnology." Broyles said. "Currently, he's wanted in four states and three countries for illegal human experimentation."

Olivia grabbed up her pan and began hastily scribbling down Broyles report on Fischer on her blank pad of paper.

"From surgical alterations, to radical hormone therapies, he's been using average citizens as unwitting guinea pigs. One subject was pumped full of stimulants and kept awake for a solid year…fed a steady visual diet of horrific images." he said grimly. Olivia glanced up at him when he stopped speaking, and he went on in a grave voice. "I only bring it up because if Dr. Bishop is right, and there is a person with these extraordinary capabilities, it might very well be that someone made him this way."

Olivia nodded her agreement. "I'd uh…like to read whatever files you have on Dr. Fischer, if I can."

"Of course." he said, getting to his feet. "I'll have them transferred to your terminal. But, it's not easy stuff to look at, or read about."

He turned and left the office, and Olivia stared at the closed door for a moment before glancing down at her notes. Jacob Fischer. The man sounded like a human monster. The thought struck her then that people had probably viewed Walter the same way, back when he was put in the mental institution. The similarity between the two men made her feel decidedly uncomfortable. Walter claimed that the people he experimented on had all volunteered. Did Jacob Fischer make the same claim to justify his actions? Was this man the endpoint for the path Walter had been treading on before the lab fire? If so, getting committed was the best thing that could have ever happened to him.

She leaned back in her chair, chewing on the back of her pen absently. Regardless of how similar they may have been at one point, Walter had changed, and was now using his gifts to make up for his mistakes. It was that which allowed her to view him as a good man, or a work in progress at least, as Peter would probably put it, and not the monster that this Jacob Fischer was.

A ping from her computer informed her that she had an incoming email. Leaning forward in her chair, she grabbed the mouse and clicked on the notification.

It was from Broyles, informing her that he'd give her access to Fischer's files, and a link to them as well. She clicked on the link, logging herself in when it was requested of her.

A moment later she was staring at the face of Dr. Jacob Fischer in an Interpol Most Wanted file. He was a bearded man, more bald than not, and the little hair still on his head was dark. She would have said he was an average looking college professor type if it weren't for his eyes. They were cold, expressionless, like the eyes of a shark, or of the dead. She recognized the look. The man was a sociopath, a true mad scientist, unlike Walter, who was just overly enthusiastic, at least the current iteration of him after having spent time in St. Claire's.

Olivia stared at the picture, committing his face to memory. Scanning down the page, she came to the part Broyles had mentioned about him luring people into his fake clinics with ads making promises too good to be true. The small subset of people who would fall for such an obvious ploy were likely to be of the sort no one would miss, or make too much of a fuss over if they were. Jacob Fischer preyed on the weak and the poor, the desperate. She hoped she crossed paths with him some day.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been going through the file on Fischer when the lights in her office suddenly flickered. Looking up at the overhead fixture, she frowned, and then the power went out all together, shutting her computer down, and leaving her in darkness. She waited for the building's generator to kick on, as it always did, usually mere seconds after the power went out. The seconds ticked away, becoming almost a full minute, before she finally felt around inside her one of desk drawers for a flashlight. Rising to her feet, she flicked on the light and moved toward her office door, intending to see if anyone was still on her floor who knew what was going on. She reached for the knob and pulled open the door, shining the light out ahead of her as she moved out into the hallway.

It was perfectly silent outside her office, the usual white noise of the building's ventilation system in the background glaringly absent. Shining the light in both directions, she decided to check Broyles office first, hoping he would still be in the building. Moving to her left, she headed toward his office at the end of the corridor. Her footsteps and the whisk of her pants legs brushing together were the only sounds she could detect, and they seemed much louder than they should have, almost deafening. She began moving a little slower, with less confidence as a sense of unease grew. Shining the light all around her, she opened Broyles office door and stuck her head in.

He wasn't there.

She moved farther inside and looked through the windowed wall on the opposite side of the office, out into the open office area. It appeared to be empty of people as well, which she found extremely disturbing. There was always someone there. She'd never seen it completely empty before, ever.

Nervously, Olivia retreated from Broyles office, back into the corridor and headed back in the direction she'd come, toward her office and the bank of elevators in the intersection at the opposite end of the hallway. Her breath was coming out louder now, in sharp gasps as the shining elevator doors drew closer, the light of her flashlight reflecting back at her. The feeling of unease increased the closer she came to them. They seemed abnormally bright when all was dark around them. Pausing mid-step, she noticed that the red floor indicator light was illuminated above them. She stared at the unnatural light, and the red glow it emitted which somehow seemed brighter than her flashlight, despite the building having no power.

_Something is wrong here, _she thought to herself. _This is not normal._

There was the sound a door opening behind her, and she spun around, shining her light down the corridor. It was empty. She stood still, listening for any other movement, which was difficult with the blood pounding in her ears. Her eyes darted out into the blackness outside of the cone of her flashlight. _Move, Olivia!_ she said to herself. _Go!_

"Hello?" she called out, and moving slowly in direction of the sound, away from the elevators, the strange light forgotten for the moment. Transferring the flashlight to her left hand, she let her right hand fall to the butt of her gun, still in its holster at her waist. Her middle finger was resting on the snap, and she hooked it under the soft leather and unbuttoned it.

Sweeping the light across the corridor in front of her, she moved down the corridor, shining the light back behind her occasionally, just in case. Just in case of what, she didn't know, only that it felt right to do so. There was a dark alcove on the right side of corridor ahead of her, where she knew the doors to the restrooms and a drinking fountain were located. She approached it ever so slowly, keeping her light trained on the corner as the opening slowly came into view.

_DING! _

Olivia spun around again at the soft noise, shining her light back toward the elevator doors. She heard the mechanical noise of elevator doors sliding open. Curling her fingers around the grip of her pistol, she inched her way back toward the elevators, keeping the light focused on their recessed location in the wall. As they slowly came into view, she saw that one of the doors was standing open, as if the hold door button were being pushed from the inside. Stepping to the side, she moved in front of the open door, shining the light inside the car.

It was empty.

_Well that was anti-climatic, _she said to herself._ What the hell is going on?_

She started to turn away from the elevator when a figure moved into view.

"Hey, Liv." John said quietly, stepping out into her light. He was in his suit again, a different one from the other night, but she recognized it all the same.

Letting out a gasp, Olivia backpedaled away from him as he held up his hands out in front of him placatingly. She crashed into an office window behind her, and then tripped over the window sill at the floor, falling back on her rear.

_It's happening again!_ She thought, breathing hard and scrambling for the flashlight which she'd dropped. Her fingers closed around the rubber grip and she grabbed it up, pointing it at John like it was a weapon. She started to climb to her feet, but didn't make further than a crouch, when he spoke again, sapping the strength out of her.

"It's okay. It's okay." he said, still holding his hands out as he moved toward her. "It's just me. I know this...doesn't make any sense to you. Even if it did, I know you don't have any reason to trust me, but that's what I'm asking you to do. We don't have much time. I'm here to help."

"You're here to help? You tried to kill me!" she breathed, keeping the light on his face. "You can't be here...why are you here?"

He shook his head, "No, Liv...I loved you." he said, crouching down in front of her. "You know that. You know I loved you. I did. Always." He smiled at her then, giving her the smile he always used to save just for her, and she felt something tugging at her heartstrings. "I can prove it to you." he said, nodding his head. "But not here. It's...it's just not the way it works. You're on the right track. I'm here to tell you that. You're looking for a person, but Jacob Fischer is after him also. You need to get to him first, before Fischer can use him."

He rose to his feet, and gazed down at her sadly for a moment, before turning and walking back to the elevator.

Olivia stared at his back, unable to move until he disappeared from her view, and then she exhaled a deep breath. He'd been talking about her case! Could he be trying to help her? "Use him for what?" she called after him, and got to her feet. She moved back to the elevator. He was waiting for her, hands spread out to either side of him, holding the doors open. "Use him for what?" she said softly. "How do you know that?"

"I will prove it, Liv." he said, nodding and staring into her eyes. "That I love you...always. But not...just yet. You're just gonna have to wait." He stepped back, and let the doors close in front of him.

"No, wait!" Olivia said, reaching out for him.

The doors slid shut. She looked up at the floor indicator above the door. It flashed from three to two. Looking around, she spied the stairwell leading to floor below and raced over to it. She spun around the railing, taking the steps three at time, and was standing before the elevator doors less the ten seconds later. She stabbed at the down button repeatedly with her thumb and the doors slid open.

The car was empty, as she'd suspected it would be.

Feeling more confused than ever, her shoulders sagged as she gazed into the empty elevator car, wondering if she had finally lost it, or was somehow being haunted by her dead lover, like he had become a demented guardian angel. He had mentioned Jacob Fischer though, that couldn't have been a coincidence. How could it even be happening? He was fucking dead!

The doors began to slide shut and her eyes were drawn to a silver plaque affixed to the rear of the car up high near the ceiling. She scanned the large print letters, more as a reflex than as a conscious decision to do so, the meaning of the words not coming to her until the door was nearly shut. Lunging forward, she grabbed the sliding doors and pried them apart before they could close all the way. She read the plaque again.

_Maximum Capacity  
2000 Pounds_

Olivia stared at the plaque, trying to figure out why the words and the number were screaming at her, begging for her attention. She read it again. _Maximum Capacity_...she'd seen that phrase before, and very recently. Where had it been?

Stepping back, she let the doors close in front of her, then turned and made her way back to stairwell, thinking furiously. Olivia ascended the steps back to the third floor slowly, running through her day until she pinpointed when she'd seen the words. She'd been in the lab, Peter had been showing Astrid how to...she paused in between steps as it came to her.

It was the sensor data from the Herndon Building...there had been weight sensors in the elevator. The data had been mostly scrambled, but the last good reading had been right before the elevator had started its fatal descent.

Without even fully understanding why she did so, she sprinted up the steps and down the hallway to her office, noting that the power was on, but too focused on finding the answer to worry about the why of it. Throwing back the door, she hurried inside and snatched up the manila folder off her desk that she'd brought back with her from the lab. Shuffling through the readouts, she found the one she was looking for, and skimmed down it to the weight sensor data. She memorized the number listed, and then moved around her desk to her chair and sat down, unsure why she still felt like she was missing something.

The only thing to do was start over, from the beginning. She had to go through everything again, from the building data, down to the list of the victim's belongings if she had to. Spreading out everything across her desktop, she slipped on her glasses and bore down, focusing all of her attention on the task.

It wasn't until she'd read the report from the medical examiner's office for the third time, did she finally notice the discrepancy.

Feeling elated, despite having been haunted again by John, Olivia grabbed her keys and left the building. She hoped Peter had managed to get some sleep, because his day wasn't quite over yet.

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**So here's the second part for 1x05. This is the first all-Olivia chapter I've done since the pilot. I tried writing other pov's but none of them seemed right, so here we are with Olivia, which is fine, I think, as this is a very Olivia-centric episode IMO. Thanks for reading!**


	36. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

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**-The Courtyard Hotel, Room 141**

**Peter** woke with a start, staring wildly around in the darkness of the hotel room, confused about what had awoken him. Rubbing at his eyes, he squinted at the alarm clock across the room, trying to make out the time. It was almost two am. He'd been asleep for almost four hours.

_What the hell? _he thought groggily. He could have sworn he'd heard something, a tapping sound maybe?

He sat up on the couch, scratching at a spot on the back of his head and looking around the room again. Walter's jagged snoring, which reverberated in fits and starts, was not the noise that had woken him. His father's snoring had faded into background noise in recent weeks. Thinking that he must have been dreaming, he started to lie back on the couch.

_THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!_

The loud knocking on the hotel room door brought him fully awake at once, as a rush of adrenaline energized him, a parting gift from not-so-old instincts which recognized the noise immediately, and interpreted it as danger. Only cops knocked on doors like that; he'd always thought it must be part of their mandatory training. With a groan, Peter swung his legs off the couch and got to his feet. He only knew one cop who'd have a reason to be knocking on his door in the middle of the night. Did the woman never sleep?

_THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!_

"I'm comin!" he said loudly to the door, then let out a curse as he stubbed his toe on the coffee table. "Shit!" Hopping toward the door on one foot, he massaged his big toe with hand.

When he reached the door, he peered out through the peephole, grinning despite his throbbing toe and the late hour at the fish-eyed view of Olivia, standing impatiently in the corridor. Unable to help himself, he gazed at her unashamedly for a moment before opening the door. His throat tightened as he took in her heart-shaped face and full lips, which she moistened with the tip of her tongue as she waited with a hand on her hip. _Christ, she's lovely._ She was not beautiful in the classical fashion of supermodels or some movie stars, but uniquely in her own way, which was only magnified by her inner beauty. Her hair was still pulled back in a ponytail, and he frowned as he realized she was wearing the same clothes she'd had on when he'd last seen her. Had she been working the whole time since they'd parted ways?

She leaned forward suddenly, her eyes narrowing on the peephole. Peter leaned back, shaking his head at her perception. He unlatched the chain, and pulled open the door, squinting at the bright light of the hallway.

Olivia stared up at him anxiously, their eyes meeting for a moment and then her gaze dipped to his bare chest for an instant, before rising back to his face. Her lips dropped open as if she were going to say something, but instead she looked past him, into the hotel room pointedly.

Peter stepped aside, allowing her to enter, and noticed that she was blushing faintly as she brushed past him. Closing the door behind her, he flicked on the light and she crossed the room to his couch. Olivia stared down at it, then glanced over at him and sat down, tossing his white sheet on top of his pillow. She'd been carrying a manila file folder which he'd missed before, and placed it down on the coffee table in front of her, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her suit coat as she kept her eyes downcast.

He studied her from his place near the door. She seemed discomfited and out of sorts, words he would not normally associate with Olivia Dunham. The fact that she had yet to say anything about why she was at his door in the middle of the night, or say anything at all spoke volumes about her current state of mind. Had something happened?

"So..." he began, moving closer to the couch uncertainly. "Can I...get you anything? Coffee...or coffee?" He chuckled self-disparagingly. "We don't really have anything else...unless you want a shot of whiskey?"

Olivia glanced over at him awkwardly, then back down at the coffee table in front of her, the redness returning to her cheeks. "Uhh...coffee would be nice, thanks." she said, and ran her hands across her hair uneasily.

Peter looked down at himself, feeling his own cheeks getting hot. He did have on nothing but a pair of boxers, after all. _Put your clothes on, you imbecile! _he scolded himself. He grabbed the pair of jeans he'd discarded earlier and slipped them back on, then moved to the dresser, and pulled out a gray t-shirt. He watched Olivia through the mirror above the dresser, and had to look away hastily when she glanced up at his back as he slipped it on.

"Sorry about that." he said, turning around. "I'm not really used to having women show up at our door in the middle of the night." He flashed her a broad smile. "Though, in your case...I guess I should be by now."

Olivia lifted her head, relief passing across her face briefly, before it was replaced by the same disconcerted look she'd been wearing when she'd entered. "It's...uh, it's..." She shook her head once, glanced over at Walter and swallowed, licking her lips. "...We should probably wake your father."

Peter nodded, but didn't make any movement toward Walter. "Is everything okay, 'Livia?" he asked, leaning back against the dresser. "You seem a little...I dunno, not quite like yourself." he said, watching as the grip she had on her knee tightened, whitening her knuckles.

"I'm fine...just...a little tired." she said breathily, not quite meeting his eyes. "It's...been a really long day."

"I'm sure." he said, faking a laugh. "There's this thing called sleep; you might wanna give it a try sometime."

Olivia chuckled, "It's never really been my style." she said, relaxing back on the couch.

"Yeah, so I've noticed." he said, giving her a genuine smile, which faded as he considered their exchange.

Peter wasn't sure why she would lie to him, but he was fairly certain that she had, for whatever reason. He supposed that they all had their secrets; at least he'd gotten a laugh out of her. Covering his melancholy with motion, he crossed the room to their small kitchenette and started preparing a large pot of coffee, easily enough for the three of them, plus some.

"Hey, can I help with anything?" Olivia called from the couch, twisting to look back at him.

He shook his head, "It's just coffee, Olivia." he said with a grin. "I think I can manage. You just sit tight." He looked over at Walter, lying spread-eagle out on his bed, thankfully under the covers. The odds of him being nude were fifty-fifty, or greater depending on the day of the week. "Hey, Walter!" he called over to the sleeping form on the as he turned on the coffee maker.

Walter stirred in his sleep, muttering unintelligibly, but did not wake. He rolled on to his stomach, snuggling deeper into his pillow. Peter moved to the side of the bed.

"Walter!" he said again, bending down to give his shoulder a shake. "Walter, wake up!" He punctuated the statement with another, more insistent shake.

His father jerked awake, rolling on his back and staring around the room frantically. "Peter!" he said, his eyes coming to a rest on him. "Are you injured? Sick? Is it your head? Perhaps I should check-" He reached up, trying to take Peter's head in his hands.

Peter batted his hands away, "Stop it, I'm fine." he said, straightening up and thrusting a hand toward Olivia, who'd been watching them from the couch with an amused smile. "We have a visitor."

"A visitor?" Walter sat up slowly, looking over at the blond-haired agent. "Oh..." he said slyly, looking back and forth between them lewdly. "Agent Dunham...have you come to see Peter then?"

Peter stepped between them, giving his father a glare of warning. Walter looked back at him, his face as innocent as a babe. "She's here about our case, Walter." he said, glancing back at Olivia for confirmation. It occurred to him that she had yet to tell him why exactly she was there.

Olivia nodded, picking up the file folder. "Yeah, I uh...found something that I thought you two should see." she said cautiously.

Narrowing his eyes at her guarded tone, he moved back to the coffee maker, pouring a cup for her. After dumping in a spoonful of sugar, he stirred it in and carried it over to the table in front of her, while Walter slipped out of his bed, thankfully wearing pajamas, and pulled on his red robe.

"Okay, so what did you find," he asked to Olivia, moving back to the kitchenette, "that was worth a two am visit?" He poured himself a cup, keeping it black, the way he preferred. "It sounds important." he said, walking back to the coffee table and dropping down in the chair next to her.

Walter poured himself a cup, more creamer than coffee, and began pacing a path through the room, bobbing his head to some internal beat.

Olivia opened the file folder on the table. "Well, I was going through the data that the building engineer, Simmons, sent us and I noticed a discrepancy with the report on the victims from the medical examiner's office." she said, and pushed a printout from the in front of him on the coffee table.

Peter picked up the sheet, running his eyes over the rows of numbers as she went on.

"There were weight sensors in the elevator." she explained. "So, the last reliable sensor reading was just as the elevator started its descent, with the car weighing 1,440 pounds." She leaned forward, pointing out the relevant data to him, and then pulled out the report from the medical examiner. "The combined weight of the victims, 1,275 pounds." She handed the report to him and wiped at her forehead anxiously as she watched him read through the data.

He shuffled through reports, checking her math, though he knew it to be unnecessary. She undoubtedly had double-checked it herself before coming to them. "Ahh..." he said, after a moment, dropping the paper back on the table. "So your discrepancy is a missing 165 pounds."

"Yeah." she said, nodding her head. "Meaning, somebody walked out of there alive."

Peter shrugged. "Okay, I'll bite." he said, playing devils advocate. "Somebody got really lucky. So what?"

Olivia face screwed up into a frown as she shook her head. "Walter's theoretical test subject." she said. "I think he's real, and that this could be him." She put her finger on the elevator weight data set.

Scratching a finger at his temple, he glanced over at her. "The only problem with that scenario is that it doesn't really make sense." he said, hesitating for a moment at her raised eyebrow. He felt bad bursting her bubble, but it just didn't add up to him. "If he was in the elevator car, he should've been electrocuted just like everybody else was. And that's if the impact didn't kill him first."

"Not necessarily." Walter said, speaking for the first time on the subject.

They both glanced back at him. He was still shuffling around his corner of the hotel room, sipping at his coffee.

"What do you mean?" Olivia said.

"If this person is both the source, and the conductor of a large amount of electrical current," Walter said, gesturing with his coffee cup. "Then it could well induce a form of electro-dynamic levitation."

Olivia cast Peter a questioning glance, wanting an interpretation.

"That's basically the technology behind maglev trains." Peter said, waving his hand vaguely as he tried summarize the concept. "They...essentially float, on an electromagnetic cushion."

"So he...floated." she said doubtfully. "Like my necklace did in the elevator?"

"Um...no, not exactly," Peter said, glancing up at Walter, who appeared to be paying them no attention again. "But...it is possible that he could've, maybe...levitated long enough to escape the brunt of the impact."

"But that still doesn't make sense." Olivia said, leaning forward on her elbows. "If you can sabotage machines, you wouldn't sabotage one you're in."

"Very true." Peter agreed with a chuckle. "So we're looking for a below average intelligence electro-man who..." he broke off as another thought occurred to him. "Unless...unless it was unintentional. An accident." he said, clasping his hands together. "Maybe whoever we're looking for isn't in control of their abilities. Maybe they don't even know what they're doing."

Comprehension dawned on Olivia's face as she nodded her head with increasing confidence. "Then we shouldn't be looking for big events." she said. "We should be looking for small ones, unintentional ones."

Peter was about to agree with her, when Walter, who had shuffled close to the two of them, suddenly reached and touched the side of his head, giving him an unexpected shock of static electricity.

"Ow! Come on!" he said, touching the spot on his head. "Damnit, Walter!"

"That was just a small discharge, Olivia." Walter said, moving out of Peter's reach and bending over the agent, measuring the air in front of her with thumb and index finger. "Negligible compared to the voltage coursing through that elevator. I say we need to find this person, and soon, before he finds out exactly what he's capable of." He pointed down at his socks, sticking out from underneath his robe, and grinned merrily. "Wool socks."

Peter rolled his eyes and glanced at Olivia, who grinned back at him. He leaned back in seat, clutching his hands together behind his head. "What even gave you the idea to crosscheck the weights of the victims with sensor data, anyway?" he asked curiously. "It would have never occurred to me."

"Indeed," Walter said, nodding his head approvingly. "That was quite clever of you, Agent Dunham."

Olivia's face paled, and she visibly floundered for a moment before stammering out a reply. "Oh...I…it…it just came to me." she said, smiling weakly, and then abruptly stood and gathered up the file folder, hastily shoving the data sheets and medical examiner reports back inside. "I'm gonna head back to Federal Building," she said all at once, "I…I need to call Charlie…we should get started on a search right away." She moved quickly toward the door, throwing them an uneasy look over her shoulder at them as she grabbed the door knob. "You two can drive yourselves into the lab, right? I'll meet you there later."

Without waiting for a response, she pulled open the door and left, closing it behind her with a thud which echoed loudly in the hotel room. Peter glanced at his father, who seemed startled by Olivia's sudden departure, and then back to the door, wondering what in the hell had just happened.

Walter took a loud sip of his coffee, breaking the shocked silence left behind in the hotel room. "That was rather odd, wouldn't you say, son?" he asked.

Peter nodded his head slowly, not taking his eyes off the door. "Yes…it was." he said distractedly.

Something was going on with her, he was certain of it now. He turned the last few moments of their conversation over in his mind. The nervous, jittery behavior she'd displayed before fleeing, and that was the only word that fit the description of her swift exit, was not the Olivia Dunham he knew. The Olivia he knew jumped off buildings without batting an eye, and was utterly fearless in the face overwhelming odds, like she'd been the other night in the cemetery, saving his ass.

And yet she'd fled after a seemingly innocent question. He would have to keep a close eye on her. He owed her that much, at least.

"Get dressed, Walter." he said, getting to his feet. "We're going to the lab."

* * *

**Olivia** leaned back against the wall a short way down the hall from Peter's door. She held the file folder under one arm and rubbed her hands over her face, trying to wipe away her fatigue and the near panic that had driven her from the Bishop's hotel room.

_Way to go, Olivia_, she said to herself. _If they didn't think something was wrong with you before, they do now._

Peter's question had caught her completely off guard, and she'd had no answer prepared for him. In her rush to get to their hotel, she'd sort of...pushed John's appearance to the back of her mind. All she could think of as she stumbled over her inane response, was that she had to get out of there, that she couldn't let him see her like that, have him witness the fracturing of her mind. Part of her longed to tell someone the truth, but who could she? Going back to Charlie was out of the question. What had happened at the Federal Building was more than just a case of dealing with suppressed emotions as he'd hinted at. John Scott appearing in her apartment to say hello was one thing. John appearing at the Federal Building, and then advising her on the case she was working was something else entirely. Charlie would say she needed to seek professional help, for her own good.

She pushed off the wall and made her way toward the hotel elevators. Pushing the call button, she resumed her introspection on her splintering sanity as she waited the elevator to arrive.

Did she need help? Was she a danger to herself or to others? _Not yet._ Then she thought of how she'd been stalking her floor at the Federal Building, ready to draw her weapon and reconsidered. Had the power even really gone out? It had been back on when she'd returned to her desk. If it had all been some kind of hallucination…

_Oh god…what if someone saw me?_ The thought made her stomach curdle, and Olivia suddenly felt like she might vomit. She'd been waving a flashlight around like a…crazy person, staring into corners, searching for what wasn't there. Anyone who'd seen her would have thought she was a madwoman.

_DING!_

The sound of the elevator arriving made her jump, and she half expected to see John standing there when the doors slid open. The car was empty, fortunately, and she stepped inside, jabbing the lobby button repeatedly, and then leaned back against the metal handrail.

She wasn't crazy. _You keep insisting that like you have control over it_, a small voice in the back of her mind told her. Olivia suppressed the voice, not wanting to hear any more of that line of thinking. If she could do her job, didn't that mean she was okay? It had to, because she didn't know what else to do about it, other than hope that the visions stopped on their own.

Trying to keep her job first and foremost on her mind, she was out of the elevator before the doors could slide all the way open, after it finally reached the lobby. The hotel clerk on duty, a weaselly looking middle-aged man sporting a graying mullet that might've looked good back in 1985, looked up at her from his desk as she approached, licking his lips obscenely and she could feel him undressing her with his eyes as she drew near. She looked over at him sharply as she past his desk, stabbing him with her eyes. The man flinched and dropped his gaze at once, as if the magazine he was reading was the most important thing in the world to him. What was it with hotel clerks? It seemed like every one she came in contact with lately was a slime.

Pushing the annoying man from her thoughts, Olivia exited the hotel, looking up at the cloudless night, as dark mood settled over her. There was a slight chill to the air, with a stark wind blowing in from the east, but not too cold considering the time of year. Looking either direction down the sidewalk, Olivia moved in the direction of her suv, finding the vacant streets calming. The silence fit her mood like a glove, as if it empathized with her loneliness, offering subtle support against the emptiness threatening to drown her. She moved softly over the concrete, trying to camouflage her passing under the cover of the gusting wind, her old habit returning as is it tended to when she was feeling particularly stressed, like she was at that moment. Try as she might to not think about her worsening condition, it was a futile effort.

What would she do if the visions or hallucinations didn't stop on their own? Her analytical mind kept returning to the prospect, and she tried to fit her head around the possibility that what she was experiencing was a mental breakdown. The kind of splintering of self that resulted in padded rooms and forced injections, along with restraints and white dressing gowns. _Maybe they'll save Walter's old room for me in St. Claire's_, she thought bitterly, then wiped at her eyes angrily with sleeve of her jacket.

She took a few more steps and then stopped, staring blankly down the sidewalk to the next block and beyond. There was a man in dark clothing several blocks away, standing under a streetlight and observing her approach, but she ignored him for the moment as an idea formed, a possible source of succor.

_Walter._

Walter might be able to help her, or at least offer his advice; he had firsthand experience, after all. And she thought he could be discreet, if she asked it of him. Maybe he could tell her what it felt like to lose one's mind. It was a long shot, but she was getting desperate for help. And as simple as that, she made her decision. If John appeared to her again, she would go to Walter, and ask his opinion on the matter. Having made a decision to do _something_, she immediately felt her bleak mood begin to lift, and she started to plot out how she might go about it.

The only problem would be cornering Walter alone somehow, without Peter's presence. Olivia felt somewhat guilty hiding things from him, but…for reasons she wasn't entirely sure of, it was important to her that his image of her not be shattered. He had displayed a quiet confidence in her and her abilities, and she wasn't prepared to see that disappear from his face; to see the looks of…respect he often gave her replaced by doubt, or unease at working with her.

Olivia glanced down at her watch, cringing at the time. It was nearly three am. She looked around, and spotted her suv half a block away, behind her. Apparently, she'd walked right past it in her contemplation. Looking back the other way, the man she had seen in the distance was gone. She scanned the storefronts and buildings that had separated them, but there was no sign of him. Glancing back once more over shoulder, she thought uneasily of the Observer for a moment, before scoffing at the idea. Why would the Observer observe her? She was no _Pattern_ event. She hurried back to her suv, pulling out her phone call Charlie, who was none too happy at being awoken.

"Francis." he said grumpily.

"Hey, Charlie." she said, wincing at his irritated tone. "It's me." She unlocked her door and climbed in, starting the vehicle but not pulling out of her parking space right away.

"Dunham," he groaned, "You do realize it's almost three in the morning, right?"

"Yeah…Charlie," Olivia said regretfully. "Sorry to do this to you, but-"

"Lemme guess," he said through a yawn, "you've got a lead…and it can't wait."

"It can't wait." she agreed, leaning tiredly on her elbow against the center console between the two front seats.

She heard a woman's tired voice, questioning in the background.

"It's Olivia." Charlie said away from the phone, and then he was back on the line. "You've just had your dinner invitation revoked, Liv." he said testily.

"Really?"

"No, not really." Charlie quipped. "Now, what's this about?" he said with a grunt, which she guessed was him getting out of bed.

"Well..." she began slowly. "We're looking for someone whom we think has an ability to control electronic devices, possibly unknowingly."

"An ability to control electronic devices, huh?" he asked wryly.

"Yep."

"You come up with that all on your own?"

"Well…it's a theory Walter proposed." Olivia said defensively, despite knowing that he was messing with her. "But there is circumstantial evidence supporting it."

There was a pause, and then he spoke again. "All right, then. What do you need from me?"

.

After making a pit stop at a twenty-four hour coffee shop she knew of relatively near the Bishop's hotel, Olivia drove the long route back to the Federal Building, avoiding I-90 and taking back streets the entire way from Cambridge. She was aware that she was just putting off the inevitable, but the possibility of someone having seen her in the midst of her hallucination made her reluctant to rush back to the scene of the incident.

In the end though, her moment of panic seemed to have been for nothing, as no one even batted an eye at her as she stepped diffidently out onto the landing of the short set of stairs down to the main office space. Not one look of alarm or sideways glance, questioning her fitness to be there. She let out a sigh of relief and descended the stairs, looking around for Charlie. He appeared to have been busy in the time it had taken her to get back. There was a buzz in the air from the handful of agents he'd called in to help assist in the search for the suspect.

Olivia had asked him to contact all local fire and police dispatches, utility companies, and security service providers, looking for any called in any anomalous electrical activity that might have been reported or picked by their systems recently. It was the only way she could think of to narrow down the area they were searching. If Peter was right, and the individual wasn't aware of what he or she were doing, then it stood to reason that the elevator incident wasn't the first or last instance of their ability working unintentionally.

Stepping down onto the recessed floor, she spotted over a cubic wall, straightening up from a desk he'd been bent over. He looked her way and nodded, moving down the row of desks to meet her. He was dressed in a light blue shirt with a dark red tie, looking impeccable as always. She wondered how he'd managed it so quickly, while at the same time having called everyone in. He was carrying a brown file folder in one hand as he approached, his face all business.

"Charlie," Olivia said with a smile. "Thanks for waking up the team. I imagine that wasn't fun." Actually, she knew it wasn't fun, having been the bearer of bad new many times before. It was one of the few things she hated about her job.

Charlie shrugged indifferently. "Sure, no problem. Part of job, they knew that when they signed on." he said, handing her the file folder. "Now, check out what we've got so far. Reports of anomalies clustered around the outlying parts of Worcester and the Herndon Building. Parking garage, gates, automatic doors, a few CCTVs." He gave a little laugh, "There's even a report from several auto security outfits, Onstar, and other firms like them, of multiple car alarms going off in the garage around the same time as the elevator incident. But I figure that's probably the shock of the elevator falling, you know how sensitive car alarms can be."

"Maybe," Olivia said, opening the folder and flipping through the first few sheets. "Or maybe it was our suspect fleeing the scene. How many car alarms?" she asked, though it didn't really matter much. It was just more circumstantial evidence.

"I don't know," he replied, "it's all in there." He nodded at folder in her hands.

"Well, we need more than that, either way." she said, moving to her old desk and sitting down. "Enough to discern some kind of a pattern." She slid her reading glasses over her nose, preparing to get started.

"You know," he said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the desk and leaning toward her. "Bishop's theory that someone's doing this...You do know that's crazy, right?"

_No, Charlie_, she thought, staring up at him for moment before replying. _Crazy is hallucinating your dead, traitorous lover, having a conversation with him, and then plying him for information about a case as if he were more than a just figment of your imagination._

"Well, if it weren't crazy," she smirked finally, "we wouldn't be looking for him. Welcome to Fringe Division, Agent Francis."

"Yeah, yeah, Dunham." he said with a perturbed look and moved away from her, shaking his head.

Olivia watched him go for a moment, enjoying the moment of normalcy, when things were like they'd been before. The moment was over quickly though, and she returned to the task at hand of finding their suspect.

Spreading out the reports from the file Charlie had given in front of her on the desk, she looked over them briefly, before logging into her old terminal and bringing the up the mapping software. There was nothing to do but plot the locations of all reported incidents on the map, and hope that she could detect some kind of pattern to the suspect's movements. Maybe the perp had some kind of daily routine they followed on regular basis that she could detect.

With a grim determination to prove to herself that she was still all there mentally, Olivia focused her attention on the task and began plotting out the data points. It was tedious job, but important, and about an hour later, she was finished. She leaned back in her chair, stretching out her back tiredly. She took a sip of her office coffee; the good stuff from the coffee shop being long gone, and stared with dismay at the results of her handiwork.

If the anomalous reports were indeed their suspect's calling card, then they had been a busy bee in the last few days. After she'd finished inputting all the data, the map of Worcester resembled a pincushion, with the markers for each report dotting the map seemingly at random. As far as she could tell, there was no rhyme or reason to them, other than that most of the reports were of power outages or brown-outs, which the local power company had been unable to pinpoint the source of. An engineering firm's burglar alarm had gone off in the middle of the day while the space was occupied. An auto repair shop's hydraulic lifts had gone haywire, and begun rising and lowering at random, before the power went out for several minutes. Luckily, no one had been injured in that one. There several reports from gas stations' whose pumps had all stopped working for several minutes over the last few days, all unexplained.

Olivia took a closer look at the gas station reports. There were more than several, she realized, and counted five gas stations in the last week with similar incidents reported. Feeling like she might be on to something, she brainstormed for possible occupations which might require frequent stops at a service station, and jotted them down on her pad of paper. The list she came up with was depressingly short.

_Delivery truck driver  
Pizza/food delivery  
Highway Patrol / Cop_

She was sure that she was missing many, but in her tired state she was drawing a blank. Rubbing at her eyes under her glasses, she looked up as Charlie sat down on the front edge of her desk, talking into his phone.

"We're looking for anything unusual." he was saying. "Systems going offline, random power surges, anything at all out of the ordinary."

Olivia watched him for a moment, nibbling on one of her fingernails, glad she wasn't on interview duty.

"Hey, I've got another incident." a voice called out behind her. "From earlier today, after the elevator accident."

She turned toward the voice, and saw Agent Rodriquez looking toward them, cupping his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone.

Charlie looked over at him, "Hold on." he said into his phone, and then nodded at the agent to proceed.

"BiCoastal Parcel." Rodriguez told them. "Some guy lost his hand in a conveyor malfunction."

"BiCoastal Parcel?" Charlie said back to him, his tone curious.

"Yeah."

"I gotta call you back." he said, and ended his call. Putting the phone down, he moved away from Olivia's desk, and toward his own on the other side of the room.

Olivia hurried after him, "What is it?" she asked as he picked up a folder off his desk and turned to her.

"I was looking over the Herndon Building security sign in sheet a little bit ago." he said, opening the folder and shuffling through its contents. After a moment, he found what he was looking for and pulled out a sheet of paper. "BiCoastal Parcel." he said and ran a finger down the list of company names, before coming to a stop near the bottom of the list. "There. Joseph Meegar." He pointed the name out to her and the sign in time.

10:05 am.

It was just before the elevator malfunction.

"This could be who we're looking for!" she said, feeling a surge of adrenaline. "What is BiCoastal Parcel?"

Charlie shrugged, "Shipping, receiving…that kind of thing." he said, then added, "I…uh think they may run a local courier fleet also."

"Couriers?" Olivia gasped.

_Of course._

"What?" Charlie, raising an eyebrow.

"Couriers drive around all day, Charlie!" she said in rush. "There were at least five gas stations in the last week that reported malfunctioning pumps…and strange power outages." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "If this Joseph Meegar is our guy…then it would explain the randomness of all these anomalies! They're happening while he's out on his deliveries!"

Charlie turned to Agent Rodriguez. "I want an address for a Joseph Meegar, ASAP." he told the younger man, who nodded and began accessing the Massachusetts DMV database.

Less than five minutes later they had the address and Olivia headed for the exit. When she noticed she was alone, she stopped, and looked back at Charlie. "You coming?" she asked, nodding her head toward the door.

"So you're not ditching me today?" Charlie asked, grabbing his coat, and pulling it on as he followed after her.

"Ditching you?" she scoffed, pushing the door open. "When have I ever ditched you, Charlie?" And when had be become so…whiny? It didn't suit him.

"All the time, lately." he said, walking beside her. "When was the last time we did any field work together, just you and me?"

"Probably about the time I got transferred out of your unit." Olivia said dryly, eyeing him confusedly at first, and narrowing her gaze on him as they toward the parking garage. "Is this about Peter? And your weird issues you have with him being my partner?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Dunham." Charlie insisted. "I don't have any issues with Bishop."

"Are you still jealous?" she asked, fighting back a grin.

"There's nothing to be jealous of."

"You are!" she exclaimed with mock-surprise. "Aww…that's so sweet."

Charlie's eyes popped, and he was still spluttering about it as they pulled out of the Federal Building's parking garage. Olivia smiled to herself, thinking of how good it felt to laugh after the stress of the last few days, even at her friend's expense.

.

They made the drive to the address listed for Joseph Meegar in slightly under an hour, with the sun just beginning to rise in the east as they pulled up to the curb, a few houses down the street from his house number. He lived in a rundown neighborhood on the southwest side of Worcester, the sort of neighborhood where belongings which were left outside at night, had better than fify-fifty chance of being gone in the morning. It brought back memories of her childhood neighborhood back in Jacksonville, after they'd been forced to leave the military base when her mother had remarried.

Looking around distastefully, Charlie opened his door and got out, with her following him a moment later. They moved down the sidewalk toward the Meegar residence, stopping at the corner of an overgrown hedgerow running along the sidewalk of the house next to his.

"What do you think, Liv?" Charlie said, parting the shrubs to get a better look at the property.

Olivia peered around the edge of the bushes, letting her right hand fall to the weapon at her waist. Joseph Meegar lived in an old single story home with a basement garage, and was clearly not one for maintenance. The paint on the white wooden siding and on the dark window shutters was peeling badly, and the small roof over the front porch was sagging to the side in a drunkenly manner. There was an old basketball goal lying on its side in the tall weeds near the edge of the driveway, its black paint having long gone to rust. The garage door was fitted crookedly in place, and she didn't think it had been opened in ages, and was probably incapable of opening. There was a large oil spot on the broken concrete of the driveway, indicating a regularly used parking spot for a vehicle that was nowhere to be seen.

"I think we're clear." she said, looking at closed blinds covering the windows. "Let's go."

Charlie nodded and took the lead, stepping around her and rushing to the corner of the house, crouching down low. He looked back at her and nodded, motioning with one hand for her to go to the front door, while he would cover the back.

Olivia nodded her understanding, and then walked calmly around the hedge and down the driveway, turning onto the pavers leading to the front porch. She approached the sagging roof, glanced up at it doubtfully, and then stepped under it, onto the porch. Pulling open the white storm door with its screen hanging loosely in the frame, she knocked loudly several times, and then stepped back, listening closely for any movement inside. She was going to attempt to try talking to him first, but if Meegar tried to flee at the sound of her knocking, Charlie would surely be able to catch him at the back door.

After waiting several moments and hearing nothing, she knocked again, louder this time, using the side of her fist. She held her ear close the door, listening again, and hearing only silence from within. Reaching down, she twisted the doorknob, grabbing it through the sleeve of her jacket. The door was open to her surprise, and swung inward with a creak of hinges in need of oil.

Stepping to the side of the doorway, she pulled out her phone and texted Charlie a quick message: _ Front do__or open, going in_

He responded almost immediately: _Gotcha_

She slipped her phone back into her pocket, and then drew her weapon, holding it with both hands as she moved through the doorway and into the house. The smell of stale cigarette smoke greeted her as she stepped into a small foyer which was dimly lit by an overhead light. There was a narrow bench along one wall, with old magazines stacked high and covering the entire surface. Straight across from the front door was another doorway, leading into a formal living room, the couches and chairs lining the wall covered in clear plastic. In the middle of the room a largish coffee table, also covered in a stacks of magazines. She glanced down at them, recognizing the yellow borders of _National Geographic_ and the red and white letterhead of the oversized _Life _magazines. The lamps on the end table were on, their shades casting a murky yellow light around the room.

Olivia moved through the living room and through a wide doorway into a dining room, with the table pushed close against the window, making room for more chairs and another couch, blocking the doorway and angled to face an old tube television on a stand against the wall to her left. There was another doorway on the right side of the room, which led into the kitchen, judging by the cabinetry she could see through it. An ashtray packed with cigarette butts was sitting on the table, the only obvious source of the overwhelming smell.

Keeping her gun leveled, she stepped around the sofa blocking her way, and spotted a crumpled form lying on the carpet. It was an older woman in a flowered gown, and from the way her face was contorted in a frozen grimace of pain or horror, it was obvious that she was dead. The woman's right hand was resting on her chest, her fingers clenched like a claw around the fabric of her gown. Her left was outstretched toward the front door as if beckoning, or in supplication.

Keeping her gun drawn, Olivia moved past the dead woman, and toward the door to the kitchen. She heard the creak of a floorboard in the next room and froze, listening intently.

When she heard the noise again, she called out her presence. "Federal Agent on the premises!" she said loudly. "I am armed and will shoot!"

"It's just me, Liv." Charlie's voice came through the open doorway. "It's clear back here."

Olivia exhaled a loud breath, and holstered her weapon. "Only the dead in here." she said looking around the room.

"What have you got?" he said, entering the room.

She turned back toward the dead woman and crouched down next to her. "White female, mid-sixties, I'd guess." she said, pulling on her latex gloves from her pocket and slipping them on. "No obvious cause of death." She attempted to turn the woman's head to the side but her flesh was stiff, frozen in rigor mortis. "Been dead for a while, though." she said, glancing up at Charlie who was gazing down at the woman with regret.

"I'll call it in." he said, pulling out his phone. "...get a forensics team out here." He moved out of the room, heading toward the kitchen.

Olivia pushed off her knees, getting to her feet. There was a small table she hadn't noticed before, sitting next to the television in the corner. Crossing over to it, she picked up a stack of mail sitting in front of a small boom box radio. She shuffled through the envelopes, reading the name on the majority of them.

_Flora Meegar._ The mother.

Olivia glanced back at the body on the floor, and then set the mail back on the table. She needed to know more. With that in mind, she moved from room to room exploring the rest of the house, building a profile in her head of Joseph Meegar.

* * *

**Astrid **pushed through the door into the lab, surprised to find the door unlocked and the lights already on. She stepped inside, a smile forming on her lips as the sound of a piano playing softly reached her ears.

Closing the door behind her, she glanced toward the piano in its corner near the tank. Walter in his white lab coat, was leaning on his elbows over the back talking to Peter, who was hunched over the keys, playing a jazzy tune which her father would love to hear. She set her things down on a table and walked over to the two men. She would give them their surprise in a bit.

"Hey guys." she said, joining Walter at the back of the piano. "You two are here early."

Walter turned toward her with a start. "Ahh! Agent Farnsworth!" he said happily. "When did you arrive, my dear?"

Astrid was pleasantly surprised that he'd called her by her name. Her last name, but still, it was a start. She still hadn't deciding if Walter's continual screwing up of her name was on purpose yet.

"Obviously, she just got here now, Walter." Peter said, looking up at her from the keys. "Hey, Astrid."

His face was still showing heavy bruising, and she winced despite herself, wondering again what he'd gone through to receive such punishment. She was curious to find out if he'd told Olivia what had happened to him during his abduction.

"Where's Olivia?" she asked, glancing over toward the agent's dark office.

Peter grunted, "Still working, as far as I know." he said, glancing up at his father. "...from yesterday."

Astrid frowned. If working the hours that Olivia put in was how one achieved the Special Agent moniker, she was going be spending her career as a junior. "You mean she hasn't slept?" she asked. "Why? What happened?"

"She came to the hotel late last night!" Walter jumped in excitedly. He leaned toward her conspiratorially. "To visit Peter!" he whispered.

"Really." she said, cocking an eyebrow at the younger Bishop. It was highly amusing that Walter had noticed Peter's propensity for Agent Dunham.

Peter shook his head and rolled his eyes at his father. "Walter..." he said crossly, then looked up at her. "She found some discrepancies with the medical examiner's report and the elevator sensor data." he explained. "Apparently, there was a survivor...and...they may have the ability to control electronic devices."

Astrid's jaw dropped. "Say what?" She was sure she hadn't heard that last bit correctly. _Control electronic devices?_ "You mean like they got a superpower?" It had amazed her that she'd just uttered those words in serious conversation as part of her job. How had she gotten so lucky?

"Yep. A bona fide electro-man." he said with toothy grin, and played an ominous sounding string of notes.

Walter face creased into frown. "That's utter nonsense, Peter." he sniped reproachfully. "This individual's abilities are no more super than that actor who plays Superman in the theater. That tall fellow...what's his name?"

"You mean Christopher Reeve?" Peter said.

"Yes, of course!" Walter said, nodding his head. "I've always loved his portrayal of the man of steel."

"I think he might've died." Astrid said, looking over at Peter. "Didn't he?" She was sure she remembered hearing about that a while ago.

Peter nodded, launching into a mournful dirge. "That he did. A few years back."

"Oh…I…I didn't know." Walter said softly, turning away from, his face crestfallen. "That's dreadful news."

"You didn't know that because you were in the nuthouse, Walter." Peter said acidly, studiously ignoring his father's reaction. "See how that works?"

Walter turned and moved away from them without a word, his shoulders sagging in depressing manner as he headed toward one of the counters on the far side of the lab. Astrid cast Peter a disapproving glare, which he also ignored, and then followed after his father. She didn't know what exactly had happened between the two of them all those years ago, but sometimes he was just downright mean to his father, which she thoroughly disapproved of. Maybe Walter was deserving of it, and maybe not, but she had not been brought up that way.

"Hey, Walter." she said, patting him on the back as he scrubbed severely at his hands over the sink. "Are you okay?"

Walter glanced over his shoulder at her. His lips were pinched into a sad frown. "I'll be fine, dear." he said, shutting off the faucet and then drying his hands.

"Well, I've got something that might help cheer you up." she said persuasively, nodding her head over toward the table where she'd dropped her things. "It's a surprise."

"Oh?" Walter said, his curiosity evidently piqued as he turned around. "I love surprises!" he said, rubbing his palms together in his excitement.

Astrid grinned and led him over to the plastic-ware container she'd brought in. "Here we are." she said, pushing the flat, square container in front of him.

Walter reached out and pried up a corner of the lid, bending down to take a peek inside. He let out gasp as he saw the contents, and looked up at her. "Is that a pie, Agent Farnsworth?" he said eagerly. He bent down again sniffing loudly. "An apple pie, is it?"

She nodded, and explained. "It's my father's birthday," she said. "I always bake him a pie. And… as my mother used to say, if you you're gonna bake one pie-"

"Then you might as well bake two." Walter finished for her, smiling wide.

_And sometimes three of four_, she thought to herself, thinking of her pie making tendencies.

Walter straightened up, holding his hands behind his back as if her were restraining himself. "May I?" he asked, eyeing the container.

She nodded. "That's what I brought it in for. Let me get some plates."

"Peter!" Walter called over to him, waving frantically with one hand. "Astro brought in apple pie!"

Grabbing several paper plates and plastic forks from Olivia's office, she returned to find Walter bending over the pie, examining it critically, and brandishing a large knife in one hand. Peter had joined him, and was staring down at the cake just as eagerly as his father, his earlier irritation no longer evident when presented with food.

"Did you make this from scratch, Astrid?" Peter asked, licking his lips like a child.

"Of course it's made from scratch, Peter." she replied tartly. As if she would use the store-bought crusts or fillings. Her mother would roll over in her grave. "Now hand over the knife, Walter." she ordered, holding her hand out.

Astrid cut each of them a piece, and maneuvered them onto the paper plates, keeping them more of less intact, and then cutting a slice for herself. Watching their faces closely as they began to eat, she grinned at their reactions after their first bites. She didn't bake for anyone other than her father often, and it was nice to see she hadn't lost her touch. Her father couldn't necessarily be trusted to giver her an honest opinion on her baking.

Peter eyes went wide after his first mouthful. "You're good." he mumbled as he scooped up another fork full and shoveled it in, and then another without pause.

Walter's eyes closed and he let a groan of pleasure, rolling the pie around in his mouth. "Mmmm..." His eyes opened to a slit, staring up at the ceiling. "This is simply delightful, Agent Farnsworth." he said, and then narrowed his eyes on her. "What is that flavor I detect, young lady?" He took another bite, chewing slowly. "Citrus? Orange zest?"

"Cardamom." Astrid said, taking a bite. "My mother's recipe."

"Ahhh...cardamom...that explains the citrus." he said, and then dug in with gusto, mirroring Peter as they scarfed down their pieces with huge mouthfuls.

She shook her head at the sight. It must be a man thing to eat so fast. Her father was the same way.

The ringing of Peter's cell phone brought them back to reality. _Back to work_, she thought, and began cleaning up the empty plates. She listened with one ear as Peter moved away from them, answering his phone.

"Hey, Olivia." Peter said, then paused. "Really? I was right? Well, that's a first." He leaned back against the piano, listening again. "His mother?" he asked, making a face, which Astrid could only categorize as disturbed.

"_What_?" Astrid mouthed, getting his attention.

"Olivia thinks they may have found our guy." he said, holding the phone away from his mouth. "Apparently, he may have accidentally killed his own mother; her pacemaker malfunctioned late last night."

Walter, who had perked up at the news, began to pace the space around him, twirling his hands out in front of him. Astrid recognized the behavior as the manic, sort of trance he would go into when he was thinking deeply.

Peter listened again, his eyes unfocusing. "Huh...that long ago?" he said after a moment. "The guy could be anywhere by now."

"Ask her what's visible in the event perimeter." Walter said suddenly, moving to Peter's side. "Electronic devices, specifically."

"Walter wants to know what's in the apartment." he said into the phone. "What kind of gadgets are there...specifically electronics."

Peter waited a moment, and then began listing items. "Answering machine...telephone," he said, counting them off with the fingers of one hand. "A boom box, a fan-"

"A boom...a boom box?" Walter said, looking excited. "That's a device for playing music. Cassette tapes, yes?"

"Yes," Peter grunted to his father, shaking his head. "but now's not really the time." he said, and then spoke into the phone again. "Anything else there, Olivia?" He waited, and then began listing again. "Television, some lamps...Walter. Walter!"

Astrid looked back at the old doctor. He'd left Peter's side and was frantically searching through the belongings that had been found on the victims of the elevator crash. She moved closer, trying to see what he was looking for.

"Pay attention, would you?" Peter said testily, waiting for him to respond. "We're doing this for you!"

Walter spun around suddenly, holding up a burnt-looking rectangular box. It was small, about the size of an old walkman. Astrid looked closer at the object, surprised to see that it actually was a walkman, one of the cassette types.

"Tell Olivia to come home." Walter said, giving the device a shake. "I believe I know how to find him."

Peter stared at his father open-mouthed, then shrugged. "Okay...well...Walter's now claiming he knows how to find the guy." he said into the phone, and then laughed at something Olivia said. "I know. He wants you to come back here." He waited, then spoke again. "Okay. We'll see you in an hour or so." He ended the call and looked over at Walter. "Olivia will be here in an hour. Now how do you plan on finding this guy?"

"I will explain when Agent Dunham arrives." Walter said. "In the meantime, I think I'll have some more of that delicious pie." he said, then added, looking over at her, "If...that's okay with you, dear?"

Astrid nodded, "Eat up, Walter." she said, grinning at his hopeful expression. "I can't eat more than one piece." She looked over at Peter, who was eyeing the pie as well. "You too, Peter."

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**Here's the third part of 1x05. :-) I hope its readable, and interesting! I'm hoping to wrap this up in another chapter or two. This episode is not one of my favorites, to say the least. I'm really looking forward to starting The Cure, which is one my favorites, but I'm trying not to rush things too much. Leave me a review if you can spare a moment, and let me know if it's any good or not. Thanks for reading!**


	37. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

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**-Harvard, Kresge Building, Basement**

**Peter** groaned inwardly as he swallowed down the last of his third slice of apple pie. Who would have guessed Astrid to be such a fabulous pie maker? He wasn't sure if it was the fact the he hadn't eaten apple pie in years, but he thought the pie was easily among the best he'd ever had. He glanced over at the nearly empty pie pan. There was only one slice left, and he felt an urge to eat more, despite the full signals his stomach was urgently sending him.

_Maybe just a little bit more. _

He snuck a look over at Astrid and his father, who were huddled together over her workstation. Walter had approached her earlier, speaking in hushed tones about needing her help with something. Peter reached for the knife they'd been using to serve the slices with and quickly deposited the remaining piece onto his plate. He was probably going to regret eating nearly half a pie in one sitting, but he just couldn't resist. It was just that good. Slicing off the tip with the edge of his fork, he began chewing at slower pace, savoring the goodness.

"Peter!" Astrid said suddenly, looking over the top of her workstation monitor at him. There was an outraged look on her face. "I was saving that piece!"

"Oh..." he said around a mouthful. He glanced down at the bite taken out of the slice on his paper plate, and then looked back at her abashed. "Sorry...didn't know." He swallowed down his bite. "Though, in my defense...you never said anything about-."

"I didn't think I had to!" she huffed, fixing him with an exasperated look. "I mean, it was an entire pie...and I only had one piece!"

Walter looked over at her. "It's a Bishop family trait." he said proudly, nodding his approval. "I thank you for the thought though, dear. However...I don't believe I could eat another bite."

"I wasn't saving it for you, Walter!" Astrid shook her head, turning her glare toward him. After a moment, she looked balefully back at the half-eaten slice. "That was going to be for Olivia."

"What was going to be for me?"

Peter swung around at the sound of Olivia's voice. She was standing just inside the doorway, holding the handrail of the steps and looking curiously at three of them. He had expected to see bags under her eyes, and other telltale signs of exhaustion marring her pale features, but of exhaustion, there was little in evidence. Other than a few wisps of hair that had escaped the confines of her ponytail's hair-tie, she looked much the same as she had in their hotel room.

He realized that she was one of those people for whom sleep was an afterthought, that she could probably function just as well on three or four hours of sleep as a normal person could with eight. He'd always been envious of people he'd known like that, as unfortunately for him, sleep was a requirement he couldn't get around for long. Her eyes shifted from Astrid to Walter to himself awaiting a response. He thought her gaze might have lingered on him for a moment longer than the others, but he couldn't be sure. The uneasiness she'd been radiating back at the hotel seemed to be gone for the moment, which he was relieved to see.

"I baked an apple pie for us, Agent Dunham." Astrid explained, as Olivia moved down into the lab. "And I was planning on saving you a piece," she threw a glare in his direction, "but...Peter ate it."

"Hey, now!" Peter said defensively as Olivia raised her eyebrows at him, casting him a wounded look. "I didn't know she was saving it."

"So, what…you just…ate my piece of the pie, Peter?" Olivia said, pursing her lips. "I love apple pie." She moved in front of him, staring down at the partially consumed slice, eyeing it dejectedly.

"Wait…no…I…I didn't know it was yours!" Peter began, holding his hands out in a plea as he stumbled to come up with a reason why he felt the need to consume four pieces. "Astrid never…she never…I…" His voice trailed off as his eyes drifted to her lips, and he felt the temperature of his face begin to rise. Her lower lip was protruding ever so slightly in what could only be described as a very un-Olivia-like pout. He tried not gawk as the tip of her tongue peeked out in a deliciously titillating manner, and then disappeared, leaving a trace of wetness behind. After a moment, he blinked away the fog that had descended upon him. He wondered, and not for the first time, if she knew the power she wielded. He was almost certain that she had to, in his experience, women always did. Though in her defense, she wasn't like most women he'd known. Glancing down at the pie on the tabletop, he picked up the plate and offered it to her. "It was only one bite, Olivia." he said with a cheeky grin, trying to recover some semblance of dignity. "And I promise, I don't have any life threatening diseases."

He saw Walter look up sharply out of the corner of his eye, and then Astrid watching the two of them closely, a hand covering her mouth, no doubt hiding a grin at their interaction. The junior agent was far too nosy for her own good.

Olivia took the plate without hesitation. "I'll keep that in mind." she said, and then plucked the fork from his hand, sending a ripple of shock through him as the pads her fingers brushed inadvertently over his. Without batting an eye, she turned away, digging into the pie with his fork as she moved away from him across the lab to her office door. "So where are we on finding Joseph Meegar?" she asked, looking back at him as she pushed open the door and went inside before he could reply. She was back a few moments later with a cup of coffee, along with her pie. "What's this plan Walter has for locating him?"

Peter shrugged, and pushed off his stool. "No idea. He refused to tell us anything until you got back here." he said, joining her as she made her way over to his father and Astrid. "All I know is that it's got something to do with this."

He picked up the burnt out walkman off one of the tables on the way and held it up for her inspection. Olivia set the plate and coffee down and grabbed it from him, looking it over with a frown.

"This?" she said, glancing up at him doubtfully.

"I know." He agreed. "Sounds crazy...but then again, I can't really think of any of his ideas that haven't up to this point."

Olivia nodded and leaned over the table, taking a bite of the apple pie. She looked over at the junior agent. "No more pie in the lab, Astrid." she called over to her with a shake of her head, after swallowing and then scooping up the last of the slice. "It's too good." She licked the fork clean decadently, and then dropped it back on the plate.

Astrid looked up with a smile. "Don't worry, I don't bake very often." she said, and then looked down at her monitor. "No, Walter. Like this." She took the mouse from him and began clicking away.

"Sorry, dear." Walter said, watching her movements closely. "Ahhh…" he sighed, nodding his head. "I see. What I would have given to have access to this kind of processing power before…" He stroked his chin, staring upwards wistfully. "The possibilities are endless."

"What have you two been doing over here, anyway?" Peter said, moving around the desk, and looking down at Astrid's workstation monitor. They appeared to be working with some kind of sound editing program.

"Peter!" Walter said, looking back at him. There was a smile on his face that wouldn't have been out of place on a child with both hands hand in a cookie jar. "This computer program is simply incredible!"

Olivia, who had followed after him, peered over Astrid's shoulder, "The Bureau's sound manipulation software?" she said curiously, glancing down at her assistant. "I assume this has something to do with our suspect?"

"I've been giving Walter a crash course in frequency isolation." Astrid said, and then narrowed her eyes on his father suspiciously. "This does have something do with the case, right Walter?"

"Yes, yes, of course." Walter said, rising from his seat. He held his hand out for the walkman Olivia was still holding.

She passed it to him without comment, though Peter thought he could detect a growing impatience on her features. Her lips were thinned into a smile that never reached her eyes and she was clenching and unclenching her fingers on the hem of her pants.

"Walter, would you just focus for a second, and tell us what your plan is?" Peter said, following his father over to the old stereo that they had set up on one of the lab tables. "Why do we have to go through this on every case?"

"I had been thinking about how one might go about tracking an individual exhibiting the ability to harness immense amounts of electricity." Walter said, spinning around to face them, gesturing with his index finger. "Surely…such an ability would affect them physically in some fashion…and when Agent Dunham mentioned the boom box that our suspect's unfortunate mother owned…it came to me. I remembered you telling me the other day that no one used cassette tapes any longer, son." He pointed an accusing finger in Peter's direction. "Which you are wrong about, I might add…and it's quite lucky indeed for us that you are!"

"Just get on with it, Walter." Peter said, crossing his arms across his chest.

"I…I…where was I?"

"The boom box?" Olivia prompted.

"Oh yes! The boom box." Walter continued. "The boom box is irrelevant, forget about it. What's important, is that it reminded me of this!" He held up the walkman, giving it a shake. "Or rather, of this!" He cracked open the blackened face of the walkman, and pulled out a cassette tape. He turned to the stereo behind him, and slid it into the tape deck. "Asteroid here was kind enough to connect her computer to my old Sansui." He patted the top of his stereo equipment lovingly. "Now, let us begin. Are you ready, my dear?" he said, looking over at Astrid.

"Ready and waiting, Walter." Astrid replied.

Walter pressed the play button, and music began to play from the nearby speakers. He hurried back to Astrid's side and sat down, following her instructions on how to start making a recording of the song with the software.

It wasn't the best quality; clearly the tape had been damaged, but Peter knew the song immediately. He could see that Olivia did too, from the way the corners of her lips were turned upwards and the faint bobbing of her head, which stopped abruptly when she noticed him watching her.

"What?" Olivia said, leaning back against a table as they waited for Walter to finish his recording. She crossed her arms under her breasts in an almost defensive manner and her eyes dared him to comment. She glanced over at Astrid and Walter, and then back to him.

"REO Speedwagon?" he cringed, nodding his head toward the stereo. "Please tell me you're not a fan." he said, as he leaned against the counter opposite her.

Olivia's face reddened noticeably, but she proudly kept her chin up. "I'm not afraid to admit I grew up in the eighties." she said unashamedly.

"But still…REO Speedwagon? "He shook his head, imagining a young Olivia rocking out to _Can't Fight This Feeling_. It wasn't a pretty picture.

Her eyes tightened on him and she quirked an eyebrow. "What music did you like back then, Bishop?" she inquired none too kindly. Before he could answer, she went on. "No, wait. Let me guess."

Olivia raked her gaze over him, and he felt himself start to blush under her frank appraisal. After looking him up and down several times, checking out his shoes, if he wasn't mistaken, she stared him in the eyes for a full ten seconds before finally speaking.

"I would say...the _Beastie Boys..._or something ridiculous like _Motley Crue_ when you were out raising hell with your friends." she said, and just nodded as his mouth dropped open. Tilting her head to the side, she regarded him with one eye and continued. "But...when you were alone, in your bedroom with no friends around...I could see you listening to...something completely different, maybe _U2_, or even Elton John."

Peter gaped at her, unable to respond. For her to have guessed one of the first two bands she'd said was conceivable, as they were popular among young people back then, particularly boys. But for her to add the second part, and still guess correctly... "How the hell did you do that?" he said when he had recovered his wits.

"Who was it? Elton John or _U2_?"

"Elton John...I always liked his piano playing." Peter admitted with a shrug. "Now how did you do that?"

"I am an FBI profiler, Peter." she said mysteriously. "And you're not as hard to read as you think you are." With that said, she pushed off the table, and moved to stand behind Walter at the workstation. "So...what exactly are you doing, Walter?"

Peter stared after Olivia, feeling dazed. Once again, he'd managed to make a fool of himself in front of her. And once again, she'd seen right through him, with little effort, apparently. Grinning to himself at her implacable nature, he moved to her side, watching his father manipulate the software.

"This is the sort of work I was born for." Walter replied enthusiastically, looking back at her. "Everyone has a unique magnetic fingerprint..." He paused, and then sat down in front of Astrid's workstation.

"You were hoping for something more specific, maybe?" Peter said, leaning toward her.

"Everyone has a unique magnetic fingerprint." his father said again, then paused, and glanced around his surroundings as if confused to be there. He held up both hands, gesticulating with both index fingers. "Wait...I said that, yes? Yes. But the fingerprint is limited. Barely traceable in fact...except in people like Mister...what's his name?"

"Meegar." Olivia supplied for him.

"Ahh yes...Meegar." Walter said, pointing at the screen in front of him. "But since Mr. Meegar has been enhanced, I believe he'll give off stronger signal than your average joe."

"So what's that got to do with the cassette tape?" Olivia asked.

Walter glanced back at her. "Well...a cassette tape is the perfect medium for recording the frequency of a magnetic field." he explained, motioning toward the spectrogram on the computer monitor from the recording he'd made. "Once exposed to a magnetic field, it remains permanently magnetized. And, given the strength of Mister...Meegar's electromagnetic signature," he said, smiling happily at remembering the man's name. "In addition to his proximity to the tape, I have little doubt that that cassette has been imprinted with Meegar's electrical signature."

"It...it's kind of like when a film camera double-exposes a picture." Peter explained, after exchanging a confused glance with Olivia. "You have the tape of your REO Speedwagon recording," he said, grinning facetiously. Olivia rolled her eyes in response, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "And when Joseph Meegar did his electro-man thing, it left behind a…a…well, I guess you could call it an image, of the magnetic field created by his ability on the tape. And Walter thinks he can separate the two."

Olivia nodded hesitantly, and then turned back to Walter, who was clicking away at the computer screen. Astrid hovered over his shoulder, giving him instructions when needed. The spectrogram, which had started out as a mess of vertical spikes running across the screen became more defined as Walter and Astrid began filtering out the audible frequencies from the running image.

"Now we just take out the music and see what we have left." Walter said, and glanced back at Astrid for help, his hands hovering over the uncertainly over keyboard.

Astrid grinned, and reached over his shoulder and then pressed a complicated series of keys, and finished with a click of the mouse. "There you go." she said, and stepped back, allowing Olivia and himself to get a better view.

"Uh huh, thank you dear." Walter said appreciatively. "Well...Wait, wait, wait...there it is." He pointed at the monitor, where the spectrogram had thinned out to a solitary set of vertical spikes. "That's him. That's Mister..."

"Meegar." Peter finished for him, along with Olivia and Astrid, who grinned at each other.

"Yes." Walter said, staring intently at the image on the screen. "Now we just have to find Meegar."

"How?" Olivia asked. "How is this going to help us find him?"

Peter had been about to voice the same question. He shifted his gaze to Walter who looked extremely pleased with himself.

"Birds." His father replied, smiling up at Olivia.

Olivia frowned. "Wait…you're not talking about that pigeon thing, are you?"

"Mm…hmm." Walter nodded gleefully.

"You believe we can find him using pigeons?" she said, sounding as dubious as Peter felt at the idea.

"It should be possible." Walter said, keeping his eyes on the screen. "As I've said, I can program carrier pigeons to track a strong electromagnetic field. We have his signature." He gestured at the screen. "Now all we need are some birds."

"I...I wish you told me this earlier, Walter," Olivia said, sounding irritated as she pulled out her cell phone. "Because then I could've been working on it. So how many do we need?"

"Not many." Walter replied dismissively, shrugging his shoulder. "Maybe…two dozen."

"Two dozen!" she said, sounding shocked as she put the phone up to her ear. "That's just great. Where am I gonna get two dozed carrier pigeons on short notice?" She walked away from the, running a hand over her hair she began to speak into the phone.

Peter watched her from the stood he'd dropped onto for a few minutes as she paced around the lab, shaking her head with frustration at her phone conversation, until she'd finally left, going out into the hallway outside. It sounded like the FBI didn't keep carrier pigeons on hand. What a shocker. Carrier pigeons had stopped being useful about the time the telephone was invented, other than for specialized uses. They had been used on the battlefields of World War I and World War II if he remembered his history correctly. These days they weren't used for much, other than…_racing_.

He sat up straight, feeling a conflicting sense of unease and responsibility. He knew of someone who kept racing pigeons. It had been years, though. Was he still in the racket? And would Tony remember him? Tess's older stepbrother had never been the brightest guy on the block. There was also the fact that, if by some miracle, the guy with the camera from a few weeks ago hadn't told her he was back, her brother surely would. The guy had always loved the sound of his own voice. The biggest question though, was whether or not Eddie had ever put his foot in the game. They had been acquaintances through Michael, but as far as he knew, Big Eddie had never been all that interested in the underground fight scene. As far as he knew, at least.

Peter sighed, sliding his hand into his pocket as he slid off his stool. It was a risk he was going to have to take. He pulled out his phone, dialing it as he moved toward the privacy of Olivia's office.

* * *

**Olivia** wanted to pull her hair out as she ended yet another futile phone call. Another dead end. Apparently, fulfilling her request was going to cause a mountain of red tape to pile up, of which no one was too eager to climb for her. Even Broyles had been unhelpful, saying that he'd look into it, but couldn't make any promises. It didn't help that she couldn't explain exactly why she needed them, not without sounding like insane person, at least.

She sat down on the bench outside the lab, propping her forehead on the palm of her hand, feeling her exhaustion threatening to catch up with her. Another cup of coffee was going to be required soon. Suddenly hearing footsteps, Olivia looked up and saw Peter hurrying toward her from the lab. He was carrying his cell phone in one hand, and scratching at his scruff with the other as he approached. He looked nervous as he dropped onto the bench next to her. Catching a whiff of his scent as he did so, her face grew hot as she thought of him answering his hotel room door late the night before. Her eyes had betrayed her then, dropping of their own volition down his chest, as they had once before.

"Any luck?" he said, forcing her thoughts back to the present, and in a more appropriate direction.

Olivia shook her head, letting her frustration show as she leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, letting out a sigh. "Not yet." she said. "Apparently, locating carrier pigeons is just too much of a hassle to bother with, despite them being the only chance we have to track our suspect." She saw him hesitate out of the corner of her eye, as if he were struggling with a decision. "What is it?" she asked, turning to face him.

Peter licked his lips, and then shrugged. "I may have a solution for you, then."

"For what?"

"For getting our hands on some pigeons."

"You know where to get some carrier pigeons?" Olivia asked incredulously. "Just like that?" He was such a strange man. Who knew things like that?

"Well, not exactly just like that…" He grinned uneasily, the bruises on his face making it look painful, and then swallowed before continuing. "But, yeah, I think so."

"What are you not telling me?" she asked after watching him for a moment. Reluctance was plain to see in his manner, and she wanted to know why.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the gray floor tile in front of him. Finally, he looked up at her, his eyes clear, as if he'd come to a decision. "I'll tell you on the way." he said, and got to his feet. When she didn't follow immediately, he stared down at her, his brows knitted in confusion.  
"You coming?"

"I guess I am." Olivia replied, getting to her feet. "As long you plan on telling me why you seem so reluctant." If this involved someone from his past, she wanted know what she was walking in to.

.

After letting Astrid and Walter know what they were doing, they walked silently together out to her suv. She pulled the door closed behind her, and looked over at Peter, who was pulling on his seatbelt, his eyes distant. She waited for him to speak, to tell her where they were going, but he seemed satisfied with the silence. Unfortunately, she didn't have time to wait for him to come out of his daydream on his own.

"Where to?" she asked, turning the ignition. The suv hummed to life and she backed out of her parking spot, glancing over at him. "Peter?"

Peter's eyes refocused and he looked over at her sideways. "Sorry." he said sheepishly. "Where to? Just uh...just north of Revere, off of Route 1...it's kinda...weird to get to, so I'll tell you where to go when we get there."

"Weird to get to?" she said, eyeing him askance as she drove out of the Harvard faculty lot. "All right..."

The morning sun was just above the horizon as she directed them east through the streets of Cambridge, toward the I-93 and Route 1 interchange. Bright reflections from nearly every shiny surface seemed to be being directed straight into her eyes, forcing her to don her sunglasses after she began to feel a headache coming on from the constant squinting. Peter pulled his shade down, and looked over at her, focusing on her dark glasses.

"What is it?" she said, feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. She wasn't fond of wearing sunglasses in general, and felt they always made her look odd, this pair more than most. When she had mentioned it once to her sister, Rachel had merely laughed, and told her she was being ridiculous. It was easy for her to say, her sister looked great in everything.

"I dunno, I guess I've never seen you wear sunglasses before." he told her, but made no further comment.

Olivia wasn't sure what to say to that, so she said nothing, content to wait him out. They drove in silence, though not uncomfortable, and Peter rolled his window down, letting his right hand navigate the currents of rushing air outside the vehicle. As they made the turn north on to Route 1, Peter let out a sigh, and then began to speak.

"So...there's this guy I used to know, Tony…he's uh…what I'd call an animal enthusiast." he said, rubbing his thumb and index finger over adams apple in a subconscious gesture.

"Just Tony?" she asked.

"Yeah." Peter nodded, his face reddening for reasons she couldn't fathom. "He's uh...got some land up north, outside of Boston, near the border of New Hampshire. He raises racing pigeons...among other things."

Olivia glanced over at him. "Is that where we're going?"

"No." he said with a laugh, as if the idea were plainly ridiculous. "He's gonna meet us at this place we both know."

"Okay..." she said, narrowing her eyes. "What other kind of animals does he raise?" she asked. He'd phrased that last bit oddly, and she suspected it was one of the things he was reluctant to discuss.

"Uhh...dogs, and some uh...chickens, I think." Peter replied, looking away from her out the window.

Olivia was silent for a moment, thinking over what he'd said. _Dogs and chickens? _It was a strange combination. A rather suspicious combination. "So this...Tony. He raises these animals for sport?"

Peter looked at her sharply, his expression worried as she raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for an answer.

"I guess you could say that." he said slowly. "Is that gonna be problem? Cause if you know someone else that can get you two dozen homing pigeons today, feel free to call them." He picked up her phone off the center console and held it out to her. "Honestly, I'd rather not meet up with him if I don't have to."

Olivia considered his words for a moment. The man in question obviously engaged in illegal animal fighting, but that in itself wasn't the entire reason for Peter's uneasiness about the whole thing. "It's not gonna be a problem." she replied, reaching out and pressing his outstretched hand and her phone back down onto the console. Despite her repugnance for the practice, her need for the pigeons outweighed any other concerns at the moment. "How do you know this man?"

Peter glanced down at her hand over his, and she pulled hers away from his quickly, wondering why she'd left it there in the first place.

"He's the older stepbrother of a...uh...an old friend of mine." he said after a few moments, plucking at the fine hairs on the back of his left hand.

An old friend. From his vague description, she suspected that it was probably an old girlfriend. Was it same one he'd...met up with recently? Olivia shoved the thought aside. It was unimportant. "Is that all?" she asked, surprised at how wooden her voice sounded to herself. What was wrong with her?

"There is one more little detail." he said presently. "You remember me telling you about Eddie?"

"The gangster you owe money too?" she asked, thinking back to their conversation on the very same bench they'd been sitting earlier.

"The very one." he said with a little laugh.

"Does this guy we're going to see work for him?" Olivia said, glancing to see his reaction to her question.

Peter ran a hand through his wavy hair and shrugged. "That's thing. I doubt it, but, I'm not entirely sure." he said. "Eddie was never interested in Tony's kind of...activities when I knew him, but they are acquainted with one another, indirectly, or they were. I couldn't exactly ask him."

Olivia understood his reluctance. There was a possibility that word of his return to Boston could find its way back to this gangster person. She watched him for a moment in her peripheral vision as a kind of luminescence warmed her from the inside out. He was putting himself in harms way...for her...or for the case, she wasn't sure there was a difference. It was unstated, but it was there all the same.

A wave of _something_ flowed through her, and then outward toward him from her chest, but Olivia refused to classify it as anything other than gratitude, she couldn't acknowledge it, but she also knew he didn't expect her to. Swallowing down a lump that was forming in her throat, she turned toward him. "What will you do?" she asked. It was unnecessary to be specific.

Peter grunted. "What I always do." he said with a self-deprecating laugh. "Wing it."

She didn't how to respond to that. 'Winging it' wasn't something she was familiar with. That always was more Rachel's territory. They drove on in silence for several minutes, as she navigated the free-flowing traffic on Route 1. They made good time through Chelsea, and it wasn't until they entered Revere that she glanced over at him, after working out what she wanted to say.

"You know, Peter...if you need help," she began, holding up a hand to forestall the protest already forming on his lips. "And I mean off the record help, tell me. Partners, remember?"

Peter's mouth snapped shut, and twisted toward her, his blue eyes intense as he regarded her silently. "I'll keep that in mind." he said after a moment, repeating her words from back in the lab back to her, and then falling back in his seat.

"Good enough." she replied, hoping he meant it. "Now where is this place?"

Peter leaned forward, squinting at the upcoming exits on a passing green billboard sign. "Almost there." he said. "Take the Squire Road exit."

Olivia followed his instructions, taking the exit a few minutes later.

"See that hotel?" Peter said, pointing to the only multi-story structure in sight.

"Yep." she said leaning forward over the steering wheel.

"Turn in to the parking lot."

She looked over at him, cocking an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"You'll see." he smirked. "Go to the back corner."

Olivia turned into the crowded parking lot a drove slowly around the building, and then headed toward the back corner as he'd instructed. She slowed down as she cleared the last of the parked cars, leaving nothing but empty spaces ahead of them, and then glanced over at Peter. He pointed towards the corner to her left and she accelerated towards it, shooting confused looks over at him as she went. There was nothing there that she could see. She halted the suv at the curb, facing a stand of trees on the other side.

"What are we doing here?" she said, looking around them. Were they meeting this man in the parking lot? What was so weird about that?

"Keep going." Peter said. "Through that gap in the trees right there." He pointed at the copse of trees.

"What?" she said, staring out through the windshield. There did seem to be a narrow gap in the middle, but surely he wasn't being serious. "Are you joking?"

"C'mon, Dunham." he chuckled. "Live a little. Through those trees." He nodded toward them expectantly, and then looked over at her, the smile still on his face.

Olivia stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged. "You better not be screwing with me, Bishop." she warned as she let off the brakes and the suv started to creep forward.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Peter said, bracing himself against the dashboard as she accelerated over the curb.

She had approached it from a slight angle, and the suv canted from side to side as each wheel made the trek up and over the curb, and then dropped down into the thin layer of grass and weeds covering the bare earth on the other side.

"I can't believe I just did that." she said, looking through the rearview mirror. Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed their transgression.

"What, you've never been four-wheeling before?" Peter said, sounding amused at her comment.

Olivia shot him a look. "Uh…no, not like this exactly."

She drove toward the gap in the trees, wincing as tree branches scraped the length of her vehicle as they drove through the narrow opening. Though they had appeared dense from the parking lot, the trees thinned out quickly and they soon came out on to what looked like an old gravel road, though upon closer inspection, she saw that it was actually a paved road, so ancient and weather-worn that it appeared to be gravel from a distance. Stopping the suv at the edge of the cracked pavement, she looked both ways, looking for some clue as to the right direction.

"Which way?" she said, glancing over at Peter.

He thumbed to the right, and she pulled forward on to the decrepit surface, the suv tilting again at the change in elevation. The old road, if it could still be called a road, came to an abrupt end about a hundred yards later, as the crumbled pavement gave way to gravel and then eventually dirt.

"What is this place?" she asked staring out her window at the surrounding landscape, which was surprisingly barren for being so near a major metropolitan area. The dirt road they were on was sloping gently downwards into a basin, and other than the line of trees to the left of the path, all she could make out were tall weeds with the occasional thicket of shrubs dotting the area haphazardly.

"There used to be an old airport out here," Peter said, leaning forward in his seat to look ahead of them. "Back in the fifties and sixties. Got paved over at some point. That road we were on was one of the old access roads. You used to be able to get to it from Route 1, but it got fenced up back in the eighties, I think. Now the only way in is from the north side." He looked over at her and winked. "Unless you know that shortcut we just took."

Olivia flashed him a little glare. "You mean we didn't have to go that way?"

"Well…we could have gone around." he admitted, brushing her question aside with a wave of his hand. "But where's the fun in that? And we'd still be in traffic for another half an hour, instead of almost there."

She opened her mouth to take exception to his audacity, but just let out a grunt instead. Who was she to complain? He didn't have to be doing any of this for her, after all.

After driving along the dirt road for close to a mile, it finally led to large group of trees, more forest-like than any she'd seen up to that point. As they moved under the canopy of leaves and branches overhead, she spotted a flash of sunlight glinting off something ahead of them through the low-lying brush and tree trunks. A moment later a pickup truck came into view, parked at the edge of a large expanse, which the path seemed to end at. The clearing was about fifty yards across, and along with the pickup truck, there were several vehicles present; an old Beetle parked next to a wooden bench, and a rusted out suv, parked in front of the pickup truck. Evidently the clearing was used frequently, judging by the numerous picnic tables, all littered with beer bottles and the beaten down grass, which bore the evidence of much foot traffic. There was even a pole flying the American flag on the opposite side of the clearing, where she could see another dirt road, leading away to the north.

"Well…at least they're patriotic." Olivia said to herself, drawing a chuckle out of Peter as they came to a stop not far from the Beetle.

There were several men standing near the flagpole who'd been watching their approach impassively. One of them nodded in their direction, but none of them made moves to come closer, which was fine with her. The vibes she was picking up from the place were distinctly violent in nature. Her hand dropped to the pistol at her waist for reassurance.

Peter saw the movement and shook his head. "Let me do the talking." he said. "It should be fine."

"Are any of those guys your man?" she asked, nodding toward the men watching them.

"No." Peter said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "He had farther to come than we did. Should be here soon though." He pushed open his door and slipped out.

Olivia followed suit and pushed open her door, and then moved around to Peter's side of the suv. He was leaning back against the passenger window, his arms crossed as he watched the other entrance to the clearing. She leaned on one hand against the back window, looking over at the men.

Peter glanced back at her, running his gaze up and down her critically.

"What?" she asked. She didn't like the way he was looking at her.

"I was gonna say to try not to look like a cop," he paused, turning toward the sound of an approaching vehicle, and then looked back at her. "...but I don't think there's any chance of that happening."

Olivia shrugged, and gave him tough-luck smile. It wasn't her fault that he consorted with criminals.

His gaze dropped to her gun. "Well...at least cover that up."

With a sigh, she relented. "Fine." she said, fastening the bottom button of her coat. "Do any of them look like Fat Eddie's guys?"

Peter looked over at the men again. "No…I don't think so." he said after a few seconds. "And it's Big Eddie. Don't ever call him Fat Eddie where he can hear you. Definitely not good for your health."

She didn't think the odds of that ever happening were very good, but she would remember it all the same, just in case.

Soon another pickup truck entered the clearing, from the path opposite them. There was a dark-haired man sitting in the back of the truck, among crates of what she thought were animal cages. He stood up and waved toward them as the truck came to a stop in the center of the clearing.

Grinning wide, Peter moved forward as the man jumped down from the back of the truck. Olivia trailed after him, watching as they greeted each other.

"Peter!" the man said, stepping forward grabbing him in a bear hug to Olivia's surprise.

"Hey, Tony." Peter said, as he tried to extricate himself from the other man's grasp. "How you been?"

Tony finally let Peter go, then held him at arm's length by the shoulders. "Peter Bishop!" he exclaimed. "Forget about me! When did you get back? And what happened to your face, man? You look like shit!"

Olivia watched the exchange, finally getting a good look at Peter's…friend. He was thin, and a little shorter than Peter, with dark, olive colored skin and dark eyes. The jean jacket he was wearing was faded almost to the point of being gray, as were his blue jeans, which had a gaping hole in each knee. She guessed him to be mostly of Mediterranean descent as she examined his features.

"Uhh...It's been a little, while." Peter said. "Car accident." He gestured toward his face in a vague hand-waving motion, downplaying his injuries.

As she moved closer to the two men, Tony's gaze drifted to her, and he leaned close to Peter.

"She's pretty." he whispered loud enough for her to hear.

She noticed he had an odd way of moving his lips when he spoke, almost like a stroke victim.

Peter snorted and shook his head. He looked back at her with a grin. "Olivia," He held a hand out in her direction. "This is Tony. Tony, Olivia."

"This is your friend?" Tony said nervously. "The one you mentioned?"

"Yeah." Peter replied, putting a hand on his shoulder, in an almost comforting manner. "She's a friend of mine."

Tony grinned widely, and then reached a hand out toward her.

"Hi." Olivia said, giving him what she hoped was a friendly smile. She took his hand, intending to give him a shake and let go, but he held tight, not letting her go right away.

"I just got a new one today." Tony said, looking over at Peter. He continued shaking her hand for several more seconds before she was able to pull free, but he already seemed to have forgotten her as he went on. "His name's Darby. I only paid two hundred for him, you want to see him? He's a champion." he said, nearly bobbing back and forth with excitement.

Peter glanced at her than back to his friend. "We're kind of in hurry today, Tony." he said, sounding regretful. "Right now, we just need normal birds. The pigeons we talked about, remember? I'll come check Darby out another time."

"Oh yeah...sure, sure..." he said, looking between the two of them. "Okay...birds it is then."

He move toward the back of the truck, with Peter at his side. She followed after them, just close enough to overhear them as Tony reached for the tailgate of the truck to open it.

"Have you called my sister?" he asked.

"No, I've been meaning to, though." Peter said, scratching the side of his neck. "We've uh...been a little busy."

Olivia narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses at Peter. He had no intention of calling this sister. She must not be the same friend who'd left the hair on his jacket. It disturbed her that she still thought of that hair at random moments.

"You should giver her a call." Tony said, pulling the latch and letting the tailgate fall open. "She could use your help."

Peter frowned at that, but made no reply as Tony reached in and pulled out a cage with four birds inside, huddled together at one end. The birds were all different looking, some gray feathered and speckled with dark spots, and others were solid colors, black and brown and white, and combinations of all together.

He passed the cage to her. "Ginger and Lola." he said proudly.

"They're very nice." she said neutrally, taking the cage from him. Which was Ginger and which was Lola he didn't specify. She wondered why only two of them had names.

Olivia carried the cage to the back of her suv. As she lifted the hatch and slid the cage in behind the back seat, she glanced over at Peter and his friend. They were standing away from the truck, with Peter holding his hands up, trying to ward off his friend's attempts to pass him something. She watched them for a moment, as Peter finally gave up and let his friend give him whatever it was. He glanced over at her then, meeting her eyes as Tony pressed his hand into his, completing the exchange. Peter shoved his hand into his pocket and then moved back to the truck and grabbed two more cages out. Tony closed the tailgate behind Peter, watching him for a moment before moving around to the passenger side window of the truck and leaning in to speak to the driver.

She reached up for the hatch with both hands, waiting for Peter to put his cages in. "You gonna tell me what that was about?" she said meaningfully, nodding her back toward Tony, who was climbing in to the back of the truck again. Apparently they were done here.

"What?" Peter said innocently. "He just wants me to take care of his birds." He slid his cages in next to the one she'd brought over and then moved toward the passenger door.

Olivia closed the hatch and moved to her door. She slid into and started the engine, then glanced over at Peter.

"So what did he give you?" she said.

Peter grimaced and shook his head. "I don't think you want to know."

"Why not?"

"Fine..." he replied with a shrug, then reached into his pocket. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

He handed her a crumpled slip of paper, which at a glance was an old gas receipt. She turned it over and saw the Tony's name scribbled across it horizontally, with a phone number hastily scrawled underneath.

She glanced at Peter again, raising her eyebrows. "What's this?"

"He wanted me to give that to you...wouldn't take no for an answer." Peter said, showing his teeth. "I uh...I think he likes you."

Olivia blinked, then stared out the window at the pickup truck which was pulling away from them. Tony waved his hand furiously when he saw her looking at him.

"Oh god..." Olivia said, embarrassed to her core.

Peter burst out laughing and she tried to keep a stern look on her face, but failed, and joined him as she turned the suv around, and headed back the way they had came.

.

The lab was ready and waiting for them when they arrived, with Walter and Astrid having set up everything that was needed in the hour and half they were gone getting the birds. Oddly enough, Astrid would have nothing to do with the pigeons, turning her nose up in disgust, and announced that she would program the GPS chips they would need, and even then she wasn't going to touch them.

Peter had still been giving her shit about his friend's note as they carried the pigeons inside the Kresge Building, and he only relented when she finally told him to give it rest, staring daggers at him. He had stopped at once though, to her relief, and hadn't mentioned the note again. She pulled herself up onto a lab table, watching as Peter helped his father get the birds ready for Walter to reprogram, as he'd called it.

The process involved two mushroom-shaped devices made of copper and steel which she'd never seen before, and a clear tube ringed with copper piping set in between them. Peter had called the two devices tesla coils, and made sure she was sitting well away from them as they'd run through a test of the process.

The resulting arc of electricity that flowed between them was spectacular, and at one point she'd felt the hair on her arms beginning to stand up and nervously slid further down the table away from them.

When the test was complete, Peter looked over at his father. "You ready for the birds?"

"Yes, yes." Walter said, staring down at the machine which controlled the coils. "Conditions are ideal, son." He looked over at the two coils fondly. "I knew these would come in handy someday." he said nostalgically as Peter began placing the pigeons inside the clear tube in between the coils. "Peter!" he cried suddenly.

"What?" Peter said, looking around for the source of his father exclamation. "What is it?"

"Do you think Belly will want these back?" he asked tremulously.

Peter chortled and shook his head. "I don't think so, Walter." he said. "I pretty sure he has a new set, what with being owner of Massive Dynamic and all. Now come on, let's do this." He shut the little door on the side of the tube and stepped back.

Walter nodded. "Yes! Good idea, son."

"Walter," Olivia called over to him. "You're not gonna accidentally fry one of those pigeons, are you?" She hoped not. She couldn't tell if Ginger or Lola were in the tube yet or not. Somehow, knowing that Tony had given them names made it seem more personal.

Walter shrugged indifferently. "Who knows? Stranger things have happened."

"That's his motto." Peter said, watching as Walter moved around the equipment.

"As I said, pigeons contain traces of magnetite in their beaks." Walter said, double checking everything. "Like hundreds of tiny compass needles. The tesla coils will create an artificial electromagnetic field," He said. spreading his hands wide over the clear tube. "Which I have already matched with Mister...uh, whatever his name is, unique signature, and will now imprint onto the pigeons."

"So...we set all of these birds free and they..." Olivia trailed off, throwing a hand toward Peter.

"Fly to Joseph Meegar." Peter said, looking down into the tube. He glanced over at her. "Yeah, I know. Me too. I'll believe it when I see it."

"Step back!" Walter said, slipping on a pair of thick rubber gloves, and moving over to the switch which turned on the coils. "There's work to be done!"

Peter stepped away from the coils, and moved to her side. He leaned against the table, arms crossed skeptically as he watched his father.

Walter threw the switch and arcs of electricity flowed between the two coils, leaving purple bars across her vision. Olivia looked away from them, rubbing her eyes. She didn't look back until the humming and cracking of the electricity subsided. The birds in the tube were still moving, and she thought that that was a good sign.

"GPS chips ready?" Walter said, looking over at Astrid, who was sitting with her back to them at her workstation.

"Yep." she replied without turning around. "I'm not touching those birds though." she told them once again.

"So we're putting GPS chips on carrier pigeons to find a man who can control electricity." Peter said, looking down at her. "I have you to thank for that, don't I?"

"Yeah," Olivia said, smiling at how insane it sounded. "That's me, all right.

"Peter!" Walter said, motioning toward him. "More birds, please!"

As Peter moved over to help his father, Olivia watched for a moment, then slipped off the table. "I'm gonna go get a drink." she said, and Peter gave her a little salute in response as he reached into the tube to remove the first of the pigeons.

There was a soda machine not far from the lab, and she headed toward it, wanting a little caffeine, but no more coffee for the moment. Olivia put her coins in, and after a moment of deliberation, pressed the Coke button, feeling the need for some sweetness. There was a _thunk!_ and the soda rolled down into the dispenser. As she bent over to retrieve it, she heard a strange noise, like a gust of wind had just blown down the hallway, but she'd felt nothing. She straightened up, looking around for the source of the noise.

Looking to her right, she saw nothing, just empty hallway. She heard the noise again behind her and she spun around.

John was standing at the other end of the corridor, watching her.

She felt shock at seeing him again, but there was no fear this time. As she moved toward him, he grinned, and moved out of her sight down an adjacent hallway.

"No!" She called after him, rushing past the doors to the lab. She turned the corner, expecting to see him, but he was gone. After taking a few more steps, she stopped and raised a hand to her forehead. This had to stop. She couldn't live like this.

Turning to around to go fetch her soda, she jumped back in surprise as she came to face to face with John, who was standing quite close to her.

"You listened." he said, grinning his crooked grin.

"You're not real." Olivia said, taking a step away from him.

"The last time we spoke," John said, nodding his head. "You listened." He took a step toward her.

"You stay the hell away from me." she said, her voice almost a whisper.

"Liv," he said softly, stepping even closer and reaching for her with both hands. She trembled as she felt them settle on her shoulders, then curl around the back of her neck, pulling her close to him. A moment later his lips found hers, and it was just as she remembered, the feel and taste of him was the same as before. She resisted for only a moment, before groaning into his mouth. She felt his questing tongue and opened her mouth to greet it with her own. There was no thought of it being real or not, at that moment it didn't matter. All that mattered was that she could feel something in the place where her heart had been before he'd broken it. She kept her eyes closed, savoring the feeling when he finally pulled away from her, rubbing his nose against hers.

"I didn't betray you." John said, staring into her eyes. "You know that. In your heart. You know I wasn't the one."

Olivia couldn't speak. All she could think of were his lips on hers, and how good it had felt to feel again. She stared down at his lips, and her breath came out in pants as she slowly leaned toward them.

"Hey Olivia!" Peter's voice came from behind her. "I think this bird thing might actually work."

The sound of his voice pricked the moment like a bubble, and she turned toward him, her thoughts foggy and unambiguous. He took a few steps toward her, his eyes narrowing on her with concern. She looked back at John, but he was gone again. Confusion reigned as she turned back to Peter. She knew her eyes were blown wide open, but she couldn't do anything about it. There was something seriously wrong with her. She could see it so clearly now. John had tried to kill her, and yet she'd kissed him as if he were her lifeblood. Why had she done that? Where had happened to her anger and rage?

"You okay?" Peter said, frowning at her.

Olivia swallowed painfully. "Yeah." she lied in faint voice. "I'm fine."

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**Here's the next chapter to 1x05. I hope it was enjoyable for everyone to read. Leave me your thoughts, if you have any on it. The next chapter will be the last for this episode. Thanks for reading! :))**


	38. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

**-Harvard University**

**Peter** glanced back over his shoulder at Olivia as he bounded to up the steps to the Kresge Building entrance. Olivia was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk as she spoke into her phone with Broyles, finally letting him in on the plan that Walter had come up with for track down Joseph Meegar. Her left hand kept creeping up to her hair, running over her pulled-back locks, a gesture he'd noticed before that she seemed to find comforting.

She finally noticed his regard, and looked up at him questioningly, raising her eyebrows. Seeing several black government looking SUV's pull up at the curb behind her, he flashed her a quick smile and shook his head, and then turned away. He pulled the door open, still feeling troubled by what he'd witnessed in the hallway outside the lab earlier, and moved toward the stairwell down to the lab, intending to get himself and her cups of coffee.

What had she been doing down that corridor? She'd been standing still, and her back had been to him when he'd rounded the corner with her head tilted upwards in an odd manner...

_"You okay?" he asked, not liking how pale her face seemed when she turned around. She looked like she'd seen a ghost._

_Her eyes were huge as she stared at him for a moment, and then looked back the way she'd been facing, before finally looking back at him again. The panicky, confused look that had been on her face when she'd fled their hotel room was back, only about ten times worse than it had been then._

_"Yeah..." Olivia said, swallowing visibly. Her voice was almost a whisper. "I'm fine."_

_Peter stared at her. She didn't look at all fine, and she sure as hell didn't sound fine, considering the way she'd just answered him. "'Livia, are you sure?" he said keeping his voice low. "I don't want to pry but...you've been acting kind of...oddly, lately."_

_"I...I don't know what you mean." she said, her eyes refusing to look at him._

_Olivia started to brush past him then, but he stopped her with a hand on her elbow. She let out a little gasp at his touch, and he could feel her trembling through the sleeve of her suit coat, but she didn't pull away like he expected her to._

_"What is it?" he said, his voice lowering almost to a whisper as leaned closer to her. "What's going on with you?"_

_Olivia's mouth opened, her lower lip fluttering as she seemed to struggle to keep her composure. _

_"Peter, I...I've been..." she faltered, her eyes dropping down to his hand on her arm. She looked up at him, and then shook her head sharply once, with a quick jerking motion, almost as if she were coming to her senses. "It's nothing." she said, in a voice a little closer to her normal tone. "Please, let's just get on with the case."_

_He detected a touch of pleading in her voice, and decided to drop the matter, for the moment. She'd almost told him whatever it was that was bothering her, and it gave him some hope that she might, eventually. Though it was by no means a guarantee, Olivia could be damn stubborn when she wanted to be._

_He nodded, and a look of relief passed across her face. Letting go of her arm, he flipped a thumb back toward the lab. "Well...I think we're all ready with the birds." he said as they turned back toward the lab. "Walter's attaching the GPS chips now..."_

Peter hurried through the lab doors toward Olivia's office to collect their coffee. Walter and Astrid were huddled around the cages of pigeons. There was a disgusted expression on her face as she watched his father clip one of the tiny GPS chips on to one of the racing pigeon's legs.

"Walter, you should at least put on some gloves." Astrid was saying as he moved toward them. "You know what kind of diseases those things carry?"

"Of course, dear." he replied offhandedly, counting off with his fingers. "Cryptococcal Meningitis, Viral Encephalitis, Salmonella, Listeria...and my personal favorite Escherichia coli, as well as numerous other-"

"I get it!" she said, covering her mouth and stepping away from the cages. She turned toward Peter as he approached. Her cheeks were noticeably pale as she fled past him in the direction of the lab's only bathroom. "I think I might be sick..."

"Peter!" Walter said jovially, looking up from the cage he was reaching into. "I'm just about finished, and then we'll be to send our feathered friends on their way." He looked past him toward the door. "Where has Agent Dunham run off to?"

Peter stopped at his father's side, looking down into the cage at the pigeons. One of them seemed to be staring straight at him through the eye turned toward him. "She's uh...outside, on the phone with Broyles," he said slowly. "Briefing him on the plan you've cooked up."

There must have been something of his uncertainty about Olivia showing on his face, as Walter gave him a shrewd look.

"What ever is the matter, son?" he said, closing the small cage door and turning to face him. He wiped his hands down the front of his white lab coat.

With a shrug, he leaned against the table across from his father. He mulled over whether or not to tell his father anything for a moment. Walter had already witnessed Olivia's strange behavior once, and didn't see what harm could be done by telling him more. "Olivia..." he said finally, glancing over at the restroom door Astrid had disappeared into. "I found her out in the corridor, looking like she'd seen a ghost. She wouldn't say why though."

"A ghost, you say?" Walter said, cupping his elbow and rubbing his chin. His voice was casual, but there was slight stiffening to his posture that drew Peter's attention.

"Yeah. Why?" Peter pushed off the table, stepping closer to his father. "Do you know something?"

"No...no." his father replied, and pulled a red vine from the breast pocket of his lab coat. "I...I was merely curious. It is rather strange, along with her behavior in the hotel, don't you think?"

Peter's response died on his lips as his father began to munch on the chewy candy. "For fuck's sake, Walter...wash your hands first, at least." He pointed to the lab sink recessed into the countertop the next table over. "There's a sink right behind you. Use it, please..." he said, turning his father by the shoulders, and directing him toward the sink in question. He could fully understand Astrid's aversion.

He watched as his father sullenly turned the faucet on, the red vine hanging from hips like a limp cigar, and reached for the hand soap. The cognitive dissonance he could display about such things was troubling, on more than one level. To think that he'd been working for the Department of Defense at one point, albeit before he was committed...but still, the possibilities for destruction of biblical proportions were staggeringly good. He hoped he'd never been responsible for the securing of any biological agents in his day. Though if he had been, he supposed he would have heard of it by now if there had been an outbreak of anything worth mentioning, in addition to the fact that Walter was still among the living.

Pushing Walter and his dangerous nonchalant behavior aside, he moved into Olivia's office and poured them each a cup of coffee, added in Olivia's sugar, and then pressed a plastic lid over the top of each styrofoam cup. Sweeping up the cups in both hands, he left the office and moved back into the lab proper, where Astrid had returned from her possible bout with sickness.

"You all right?" he said, moving to her side.

"Your father could use a lesson or two in practicing safe hygiene." Astrid said curtly, slipping on a pair of white latex gloves. "How was he ever the head of Harvard's Biochem Department?"

Peter chuckled, "I asked myself almost the exact same thing." he said, looking over at his father.

Walter was standing near the pigeon cages, dropping what looked like sunflower seeds through the thin mesh. Where he'd managed to find them was a mystery, he had certainly never bought him any. Apparently, pigeons really would eat anything, including sunflower seeds nearly two decades old, if his suspicions on the seed's origins were correct.

"Walter, is everything ready?" he asked, moving toward the stairs out of the lab.

"Yes...I believe my friends here are eager to take flight, son." Walter replied proudly, bending over one of the cages. "Let Agent Dunham know that they're quite excited to do so too, I might add." He looked over at Astrid, who was watching him with the perturbed look she'd given him. "Come dear, show me how to attach these chips."

"Your friends, Walter?" Astrid said with a scowl as she moved reluctantly to his side. "Really?"

Peter looked back at the two of them as he reached for the door, juggling the coffee cups in one hand. It was less than two days after his father had drugged her, and Astrid had already put it behind her. Though if he wasn't mistaken, she seemed less meek around him than she'd been before the incident, and had stopped addressing him as Dr. Bishop, as well. It was probably for the best, his father's head was big enough as it was. He didn't hear Walter's response as he pulled open the door and left them to it.

.

In the time Peter had been gone for the coffee, the campus around the Kresge Building had been overrun with men in black suits driving black suv's. The vehicles he'd seen arriving were now parked in a line along the curb closest to the Kresge Building, around the corner from the entrance. Students and faculty alike were watching with interest, huddled together on nearby benches and in groups standing up and down the sidewalk in either direction, pointing and talking excitedly to one another. In the windows of the Kresge Building itself, he could make out faces staring down at them through the dark windows. He grinned to himself as they pulled back away from the glass when one of the dark-suited agents would glance upwards at them. It would be interesting to learn someday what students and faculty at Harvard thought of the FBI keeping a semi-secret lab in the basement of one of their buildings. There were probably already conspiracy theories aplenty, with the bodies that had already been carted through the hallways, and they'd only been in business for a little over a month.

Olivia was nowhere in sight as Peter moved toward the group of agents hesitantly, looking for a familiar face. He recognized Charlie Francis in a pair of aviator sunglasses, and along with his dark suit, looked every bit the agent that he was. He was about to go ask him where Olivia had gone when he spotted her light green suv pull up to the row of vehicles. She pulled over to the curb then backed into the spot at the front, assuming the lead position. Veering in the direction of her suv, he nodded at Charlie, who was leaning against the suv closest to Olivia's, arms crossed over his chest.

"Hey, Charlie." he said, walking past him.

Charlie reached out, stopping him with a touch on his arm. "Bishop." he said gruffly. "How's that face and your chest? You sure you should be out here today?"

Peter stopped and turned back to him, not sure if he was being serious or not. From his stiff-necked demeanor, he appeared to be. "I'm fine." he said. "It's not a big deal."

Truthfully, his chest had been aching a bit since the bear hug Tony had engulfed him in earlier, but it wasn't anything debilitating. His face felt fine though, other than some soreness around his nose and eyes. He was just hideous to look at, like he'd run face first into a brick wall.

The other man shook his head, and Peter thought he might be rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. "You've been hanging around Liv too much." he said dryly. "You're just a consultant, Bishop, you could have taken a few days off, you know."

"Would you have?" Peter said, trying not to sound testy. He didn't care for the inference that he was less than fully invested in the work they were doing. Things had changed with the events of the past few days, not that he was planning on enlightening the man about his change of heart, but still.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment before Charlie nodded slowly, acceding the point. "Probably not..." he admitted grudgingly after a moment. "Though…I imagine my wife might have a different opinion if I looked like anything like you do."

"Then luckily I don't have a wife, Charlie." Peter said sarcastically, finding the very idea fear-provoking. He wasn't even close to marriage material; with his past, coupled with the added baggage of his less than sane father, the prospects for entering into that kind of relationship with anyone not insane already were negligible. "And I don't have any plans or prospects for acquiring one." he added, turning to close the distance with Olivia's suv.

"You never do," Charlie replied sagely behind him. "It just creeps up on you."

"It ain't gonna creep up on me." he stated, looking back at the agent over his shoulder. "Glad we had this little discussion, Agent Francis." he said, grinning at the strange turn the conversation had taken.

Charlie gave him a stoic nod in response, and Peter moved toward the passenger door of the green suv. The window was down, and he could see Olivia inside with a fingertip pressed to her temple, chewing on her lower lip distractedly.

"Hey." he said, bending down and extending her cup of coffee towards her through the open window. "I thought you could use some."

Olivia looked over at the sound of his voice, her lips curling into a relieved smile at sight of the coffee cup. "Oh…you didn't have to do that, Peter." she said, reaching for cup despite her assertion.

"I think I did. When was the last time you slept, Olivia?" Peter said, pulling open the door and sliding into the passenger seat. "Unless you want to let me drive?" he asked impudently, reaching over his shoulder for the seatbelt. "I mean to try out those sirens sometime, remember?"

She seemed to consider his offer seriously for a brief a moment before her expression transformed to one of amusement. "Umm…no." she said, taking a sip of the hot beverage. She let out a sigh as it went down, and then placed the cup in the cup-holder. "Thanks for the offer, though, but I'll manage."

Peter shrugged his acceptance. He hadn't expected anything else, really. "Did I miss anything out here?" he said, looking around at the gathered agents.

Olivia nodded toward the Kresge Building. "Not really." she said. "But, I think the show's about to start."

Walter and Astrid had rounded the corner of the building closest to the entrance, carrying the pigeon out in front them with both hands. Astrid held her arms fully outstretched, hold the cage as far as possible from her body, while turning her head away from it with a grimace.

"What is she doing?" Olivia asked, focusing on her assistant as her and Walter moved out into the grassy area of the quad, diagonally away from the Kresge Building entrance.

"She _really_ doesn't like pigeons." Peter said, thinking of her flight to the restroom. "I think Walter might've made her sick earlier."

"Really?" Olivia glanced over at him, her delicate eyebrows raised inquisitively. "How'd he do that?"

"Let's just say that Walter's ideas for personal hygiene aren't quite up to her standards." he said, meeting her eyes briefly, and then looking back at his father through the windshield. "Or anyone's standards, for that matter."

"I don't think I want to know." she replied, her lips crooked with distaste.

"Yeah…you really don't." Peter said, watching as his father and Astrid stopped about thirty or forty feet from sidewalk in a wide open area of the quad with no nearby trees.

They set their cages on the ground next to each other, and sat on their heels as Astrid picked up the GPS receiver for the tracking devices off the top of the she'd been carrying. Walter smiled down at his cage fondly and made some remark to Astrid, who seemed less than amused. Her response seemed to leave his father taken aback, as the junior agent pushed off her knees and stepped back from the cages, manipulating the controls of the receiver. Several moments later Walter looked over at Olivia's suv, giving them two thumbs up enthusiastically.

"Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines." he said, grinning at Olivia as she pulled on her seatbelt. She flashed him a smile in return as she turned the ignition and the little suv rumbled to life.

Charlie motioned to the other agents. "Start it up." Peter heard him say, twirling his index finger in a circular motion. The agents piled into the government vehicles and waited to follow Olivia's lead.

Walter flipped back the tops of each of the cages and stepped quickly back next to Astrid, as if he expected the birds to recognize their freedom at once, and make the most of it. The pigeons seemed loathe to leave their cages however, much to Walter's distress, and he began gesturing at them impatiently with both hands.

Peter glanced over at Olivia, hoping none of the doubts he was feeling at that moment were apparent on his face. She was frowning worriedly at the scene in front of them as his Walter's gesturing grew more frantic at the birds' refusal to take flight. Just when he was about to push open the door and go calm his father down, Astrid put her fingers to her lips, and let out a high-pitched whistle he could hear clearly from inside the vehicle.

There was an immediate rush of feathers as the pigeons took flight, rising toward the blue sky in a dizzying spiral. Walter laughed delightedly, dancing a little jig as he clapped his hands in excitation, staring upwards at the dwindling forms. Even Astrid seemed to have forgotten her disgust for the creatures and had a smile on her face as gazed up at the sky.

Olivia exhaled a nervous breath and they exchanged relieved glances as she pulled away from the curb and drove toward the main road.

"Seriously, if this works-" Peter began, pulling his phone from his pocket.

"You're gonna have some more faith in your father?" Olivia interrupted facetiously, looking over at him with a smile.

Peter shook his head emphatically. "No." he replied cheekily. "I don't think so."

Olivia rolled her eyes, but the smile remained on her face as she leaned forward, looking upwards through windshield, driving in the general direction the pigeons had flown, which was to the west. He thought it might be good sign that they didn't fly straight back to Tony's farm north of Boston. His phone rang and he answered it at once, putting it on speaker for Olivia to hear as well.

"Hey Astrid." he said, holding the phone in his left hand closer to Olivia. "You're on speaker."

"Hey guys." Astrid said, her voice sounding distant. Peter thought her phone might be on speaker also. "You still see the rats with wings?" she asked.

"Yeah...I see them." Olivia said, glancing over at him and grinning at Astrid's words. "They seem to be headed west, maybe a little south." she said. "They haven't changed course since we started following them."

"I've hooked the GPS into the FBI mainframe." Astrid reported. "According to this, the flock is heading just as you said...west, southwest."

"What's southwest of Cambridge?" Peter mused out loud, rubbing his his chin. "...It's mostly residential. Not the exactly kind of hideout I envisioned for electro-man."

Olivia nodded slowly, and opened her mouth to reply, but she closed it with a snap. Her eyes went wide as if she'd just had revelation. "Hey Astrid," she called. "Let us know if the birds change course. I think we're gonna lose them for a while."

Peter looked over at her. "You know something I don't?" he said as Olivia made a left turn on to JFK Street, and the pigeons went out of sight, off to his right somewhere.

"Jospeh Meegar lived in Worcester, Peter." Olivia replied as she accelerated the suv southwards toward the Charles. "Why are we assuming he's in Boston?"

Peter's mouth fell open, and he blinked as her words penetrated. Why was he assuming Meegar was in Boston? Worcester was west-southwest of Boston... "Astrid," he said. "Can you extrapolate-"

"Already on it." Her voice cut in from the phone speaker. "The flock's current flight path will take them straight to Worcester." she said a moment later. "On the north side if I had to make a guess."

"Good work, my dear." Walter said, his voice barely audible in the background.

Peter glanced at Olivia. There was a small smile of triumph on her face. He could tell that she reveled in a hunch of hers being proven correct. "I assume you're heading for I-90?" he asked as they crossed the bridge over the Charles.

"Yep." Olivia replied. The smile was replaced by a look of fierce determination.

Peter took a large sip of his coffee and smiled to himself as he settled back in his seat, preparing for the forty-five minute drive to Worcester. He almost felt sorry for Joseph Meegar if he crossed paths with Olivia. Almost.

* * *

**Olivia** ended her call with Charlie as she guided her suv through the streets of Worcester. They were coming in from the north, as Astrid's constant updates on the pigeons' location seemed to indicate that they were heading for some location on that side of the city. She wasn't all that familiar with Worcester, and required nearly constant direction from Peter, who seemed to know exactly how to get them to area of the city that Astrid had said the pigeons should be headed based on their current flight path. She scanned the sky as she guided their caravan through traffic, looking for the pigeons, but had yet to see any sign of them since in arriving in Worcester.

"And how's Agent Francis?" Peter asked from the passenger seat.

"Irritated." she said with a chuckle, tossing her phone on the console between the seats. "Wants to know how long we're gonna keep following around a flock of birds."

Peter grinned as he tapped his finger in rhythmic beat on the arm rest. "I don't think he's spent enough time at the lab yet to fully appreciate our kind of crazy." he quipped.

Olivia chuckled again, and momentarily considered telling him what Charlie had said about spending more time at the lab, before deciding it probably wasn't the best idea. "Somehow, I don't think that's gonna change anytime soon." she said diplomatically instead.

"Well…that's too bad for him." he said sarcastically, glancing over at her. "He doesn't know what he's missing out on."

"Yeah…" she agreed. "Who wouldn't want to watch your father pluck out a corpse's eyeball or make a dead heart beat again?"

"You're forgetting re-wiring a man's brain to receive-" Peter began, but was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. "Hey Astrid." he said, answering the call and holding the phone up to his ear. "What have you got?"

He listened for a moment, then leaned forward in his seat, searching the sky ahead of them. "I think we're almost there…." he said. "But I don't see them." He pointed toward a street sign ahead of them. "Take a left on Mill Street. According to Astrid, they should be right around here."

Olivia turned on the street he had indicated, leaning forwards in her seat, looking upwards for the birds as she drove slowly down the block. The area of the city they were in had gone from a mostly commercial district, peppered with shops and restaurants sandwiched in between residential neighborhoods similar to her own neighborhood of Brighton, to an older, more industrial area. The structures had become nondescript and larger, more functional than aesthetically pleasing, of the sort typical for manufacturing and production facilities. Many of the properties were surrounded by rusty metal fencing with barbed wire coiled around the top edge to keep out interlopers. Graffiti marked the sides of many of the buildings, a testament on just how well the fencing actually worked at keeping out trespassers.

The road ahead of them dipped under an overpass, and when they came out the other side, there was movement in peripheral vision which drew her attention. High in the sky, about a block over from their position, a number of birds were circling in a chaotic manner.

"I think I see them!" she said, pointing across Peter's chest through the windshield at them. "Is that them?"

Peter squinted through his window at the birds. "Only one way to find out." he said. "Make a right at the next street. It should take us straight to them."

Olivia made the right and the circling birds shifted to a front and center position in the windshield. She checked her mirrors and saw the other two FBI vehicles make the turn behind her. The road they had turned on was sprinkled liberally with potholes, and the area was run-down, with trash littering the empty parking lots in front of vacant-looking buildings on either side of the street. The birds appeared to be particularly interested in a gated property about halfway down the block. They dove and swooped above a low building set far back on the property in a coordinated manner, as if they were being guided by a singular consciousness.

"That's definitely them. I think I can make out Lola and Ginger." Peter said, leaning forward in his seat as they approached the gated parking lot. "Well, what now boss?"

Olivia smiled inwardly at the moniker. For some reason she got a kick out of him calling her that. "Now..." she said with a grin, "We go catch a man who can control electricity."

She slowed the suv to a crawl, and then to stop. An agent jumped out of Charlie's vehicle, and approached the gate. It was unlocked, and he pulled it open without difficulty. She quickly accelerated through the open gate, and into the parking lot, followed in turn by the other two vehicles.

The building which the pigeons had guided them to was a two-story structure, and an oddly colored choice for someone trying to be inconspicuous. The upper half was painted a bright white, while the lower half was a deep red, all the way down to the foundation. There were two garage-type rolling doors at either end of the building, and a line of tinted, barred windows set high off the ground breaking up the up white paint at regular intervals. The only obvious entrance was single door set back into a narrow alcove centered in the middle of the building.

Olivia gunned her suv across the parking lot and came to a screeching halt not from the entrance. The other vehicles pulled up parallel to them, doors flying open before they were at a complete stop. She removed her seatbelt to get out, and saw that Peter was doing the same.

"You stay here." she said, with a shake of her head. "We'll check it out first."

Peter's lips thinned momentarily, but then he shrugged. "Whatever you say, boss." he said flippantly, waving her away.

Olivia glanced back at him as she shut her door. She hoped he wasn't too upset at not being allowed to go with her. They way he'd called her 'boss', didn't have quite the same ring to it that it had before. It was something he was going to have to get used to it. She couldn't do her job effectively and have to worry about him at the same time.

Charlie and four other agents joined her as she hurried toward the entrance to the building.

"I'm not even gonna ask how you got a flock of pigeons to lead us here, Liv." Charlie said as they approached the single door.

"Probably a good idea." she replied, dropping her hand to her pistol at her belt and removing it in a fluid motion.

Charlie and the other agents did likewise, and moved toward the recessed doorway guns drawn and held out before them. There was a narrow vertical window to left of the entrance, and she moved to the side of it. Charlie took up position opposite her, on the other side of the door. The other agents fanned out behind them against the brick wall of the building.

Olivia peeked around the edge of the window, looking in through the slight tint in the glass to the interior. She could make out what looked like a small waiting room, with a receptionist's desk in one corner next to a door leading further into the building. There were no one in sight.

"No movement inside." she reported, looking over at Charlie, and then reached for the door knob and gave it a twist. "It's locked."

"Stand back." he said, and then smashed the grip of the his pistol against the square window set in the upper half of the door. The glass shattered easily, and he knocked the broken fragments aside with his gun barrel, and then reached through and unlocked the door. He pulled it open and held it back against the wall as Olivia and the other agents filed past him into the building.

Olivia took the lead, holding her gun out with both hands in front of her, the barrel shifting with her eyes as she cataloged the room. The receptionist's desk was clean, with not a trace of pen or paper, and no computer present to indicate that the desk had ever been used by anyone. There were no magazines in the holders, nor any pictures or any other decorations hanging on the wall above the seating.

"Whoever put this room together, didn't try to hard to make it look legitimate." she said to Charlie as he moved back to the front of the group.

Charlie grunted. "Either that or it's just a vacant building, Liv." he said as they moved toward the door next to the receptionist's desk. "We did follow a flock of pigeons, after all."

Olivia didn't have a response to that that didn't sound crazy, so she pulled open the door and let Charlie and the others pass by. She followed after them into a corridor with an open doorway at the opposite end, and a stairwell leading up to the floor above just to the right of the door they'd just come through. There were other doors, leading to rooms adjacent to the hallway and a viewing window to her left, through which she could see objects covered by white sheets, and a what looked like dental chair. It reminded her uncomfortably of one of Walter's chairs back at the lab.

"You two," Olivia said to two of the accompanying agents, "Check upstairs, we'll go this way."

The two agents moved up the stairwell and out of her view, and the rest of them moved forward toward the doorway at the end of the hall. She kept her gun outstretched ahead of her, and glanced in the slender windows of the doors to the adjacent rooms off the corridor as she passed them by. The rooms were dark, and she couldn't make out much more than obscure, shapeless forms through them that could be anything. She ignored the rooms for the moment and continued toward the opening at the end of the hall, with Charlie keeping pace opposite her on the other side of the corridor.

She was about to motion for Charlie to precede her through the open door, when a man suddenly stepped through it, moving purposefully toward them. He was dark-haired, with a badly receding hairline and a dark beard with wisps of gray just starting to show through on his droopy cheeks and chin. His ears were large, and stuck out oddly from his head and he was wearing a dark gray lab coat with a white pinstriped shirt and a maroon colored tie. The man's eyes were dead, emotionless voids that made her feel soiled when they focused on her.

Olivia's eye went wide as his identity came to her at once.

It was Jacob Fischer.

The man Broyles had spoken to her of the night before.

_The man John's...vision...or whatever it was, had warned her about! _She had to talk to Walter.

"Stop! Get those hands up, buddy!" Charlie said, training his gun on the man's head.

Jacob Fischer came to a stop, and his flat gaze shifted to over to him wordlessly, examining Charlie like he was cockroach in need of stepping on.

"I said get those hands in the air!" Charlie ordered harshly. He clicked the hammer back on his pistol in warning.

Fisher slowly complied, holding his hands out in front of him, and then raising them upwards in an exaggerated motion.

"Joseph Meegar." Olivia said coldly. "I know he's here, Mr Fischer. Where is he?"

His gaze shifted back to her, his head tilted as if assessing her. If he was surprised that she knew his name he didn't show it. "I'm sorry." he said in a condescending tone. "Who are you referring too?" There was a ghost of a smile behind his beard as he spoke.

Olivia started to reply when she picked up noise through the doorway behind him. It had sounded like a car starting. She focused her attention over his shoulder and on the room behind him; it appeared to be a lab of some sort. There was electronic equipment and another one of those chairs, similar to the one she'd seen a through viewing window.

Why had Fischer surrendered himself so easily? As soon as the thought formed she knew the answer.

"He's stalling, Charlie!" she said, glancing over at her partner. "You two take him." She looked back at agent behind her. "You with me!"

"Turn around!" Charlie said, moving toward Fischer and putting his gun in his face. "Face the wall!"

Olivia moved past them into the next room, keeping her gun up. It was a lab, equipped with electronic devices she didn't recognize. Peter could probably make sense of them, but she'd left him behind. A large surgical light was focused on a patient chair in center of the space, with a vitals machine and an IV pole on casters standing close by. There was bag on its hanger, filled with a clear fluid. The hoses trailing from the bag were dangling, as if they'd just been removed. Sitting next the chair across from the IV pole was a tray with uncapped syringes lying on its surface. He eyes fell on black straps, sitting on cushion of the chair, and she clenched her teeth, remembering the crimes Fischer was accused of from Broyles's file on the man. There was another door in one corner of the room, with an exit sign illuminated above it.

"This way!" she said to the agent with her, and hurried toward it.

Olivia pushed the door open and ran down a short hallway with two doors on the left side, clearly marked as restrooms, and another closed door at end. She ignored the restrooms and threw herself at the closed door, banging it open into a large garage and moving inside, keeping her gun at the ready. There was a man standing in the center of the concrete floor on other side of a chain-linked fence, staring over at them with wild eyes.

It was Joseph Meegar! He was wearing a light blue button down shirt, which was open, exposing his chest, and pair of blue jeans. There was blood dripping down his face and into his thin beard from some kind of wound he had on both temples, and he had a bandage on one wrist, which she guessed was from the IV she'd seen a moment ago. At his feet was another man in a black leather coat, groaning and moving around weakly. There was gray suv stopped not far the man, its engine running and the passenger door swung open.

"Freeze!" Olivia said, pointing her gun at him through the fence, which had been erected to form a narrow corridor, running the length of that side of the garage. She and the agent moved toward an opening in the fence not far from them.

Their movement seemed to break Joseph Meegar free of his shocked state, and he turned and ran around the corner of the suv, and then toward an open garage door on the back of building.

"Stop, Joseph!" she shouted after him as she raced around the edge of the fence toward the suv and the man on the ground. "Check him!" she called back to the trailing agent, and pointed down at the man on the ground as she passed him by, before sprinting out into the daylight after Meegar.

Outside the garage was a narrow drive, and then a parking lot, which was actually the backside of the property behind the Jacob Fischer's hideout. It was being used currently as parking for some company's heavy equipment. She caught sight of a flapping blue shirt as Joseph Meegar disappeared around the corner of a bulldozer, sitting on a trailer nearby. She hurried after him, keeping her gun low as she entered a maze of trucks, cranes, and loaders, all packed close together like sardines in a can.

Suddenly the vehicles around her roared to life, their engines gunning as if someone were pushing their throttles all the way to the floor. Olivia swallowed, feeling very aware of her vulnerable position, being in the midst of all that heavy metal. She moved slower then, trying not to touch anything if possible, and tried to make her way to the outside edge of the parked vehicles. She didn't know the extent of Meegar's abilities, but Walter had said that all of the people in the elevator had been electrocuted, so it seemed like a good idea to her.

Olivia moved cautiously between the treads of an enormous crane and a cement truck, toward what looked like open space, wincing at the noise from the still-running engines around her. It was impossible to hear anything over the cacophony. As she emerged from the maze, she saw Meegar's blue shirt again, running to her right.

"Stop right there!" she shouted again as she rushed after him.

Joseph looked back over his shoulder at her, and a dump truck she'd been about to run in front of suddenly lurched forward, black smoke shooting from its exhaust stack.

She narrowly avoided the truck, skidding to a stop mere inches from its side, as it shot in front of her and crashed into a telephone pole, which tilted over drunkenly to the side. The truck came to a stop, and though the engine was still running, she could hear a metallic clamor coming from it that gave her hope that it wouldn't be much longer.

_Jesus! _Olivia said to herself, moving carefully around the back of the truck to resume the chase._ That was too close._

Once she was around the truck, she ran forward, spotting Meegar as he raced around the corner of the red and white building toward the front. She had hoped to not have to use her weapon, but after being nearly flattened by a dump truck, he'd left her no choice.

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**So here's the next part of 1x05. I originally planned to only have one more chapter, but I thought i was getting too long so I split it in two.**

**As always, thanks for reading!**


	39. Chapter 38 - End 1x05

******FYI! **I've noticed some readers have been skipping straight to the last chapter with this update. I posted two chapters at once, so you might be missing a chapter if you do so! 

**.**

**Chapter 38**

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**-Worcester, Massachusetts**

**Peter** watched the pigeons circling lazily over the building in front of Olivia's suv. It had been less than ten minutes since Olivia and the others had gone into the building, _without him_, he thought bitterly, and he was already getting antsy.

The pigeons appeared to be getting worn out, as some of them had dropped down to the edge of the building, where they gripped the edge of the flashing, imperiously watching over the parking lot. It occurred to him that he wasn't entirely sure how they were supposed to get the birds back to Tony. If Walter's reprogramming was permanent, they might have a problem. He picked up his phone off the center console and dialed the lab's number.

"Astrid," he said when she picked up. "Lemme talk to Walter."

His father was on the line a moment later. "Hello...this is Dr. Walter-"

"Walter!" Peter cut in. "It's me, Peter." He really needed to work with him on answering the phone.

"Oh...Hello son! How's Agent Dunham doing?" Walter said brightly.

"Hey," Peter said, ignoring the question. "How long will the pigeons' sensitivity to the magnetic field you programmed them with remain in place?"

"Hmm..." Walter began, "I should think not more than a few hours at most, depending of course on the variance of-"

"So they'll fly back to their original programming when it wears off?" Peter interrupted again.

"I believe so, yes." His father replied after a moment deliberation. "Though...we can't really can't be sure of course, until..."

Peter didn't hear anything else his father said as the engines of Olivia's suv and the other FBI vehicles next to hers, suddenly roared to life, and all thoughts of pigeons went out of his head. His eyes went to the ignition, which was still clearly in the OFF position.

"Woah." he said out loud, twisting around in his seat, trying to spot the source of the truck's unusual behavior. The parking lot outside was empty, with not an electro-man in sight, but he still felt uncomfortable sitting inside a vehicle that seemed to have a mind of its own.

Peter pushed open the door and climbed out, still craning his neck for anyone out of place. He could hear the roaring of more racing engines that seemed to be coming from the behind the multi-colored building. His mind conjured up an image of a man, wreathed in arcs of electricity, stalking around the corner of the structure toward him. The image was complete with bolts of lightning shooting out of his eyes wherever he cast his gaze. He laughed uneasily to himself at the disturbing picture as he moved towards the rear of the vehicle.

The door to the front entrance that the agents and Olivia had gone through suddenly opened, and one of the men Peter didn't know raced outside, and began circling around towards the rear of the building from the left side, his gun outstretched as he rounded the corner and disappeared.

Peter watched the direction he'd gone anxiously for a moment, wishing he had a weapon of his own. Thinking that Olivia might have something in the back of her suv that he could use, he lifted the hatch and looked inside. Her trunk was immaculately clean, completely empty except for a green duffel bag, which he unzipped to check for anything useful. Inside was a towel, that he pushed aside, exposing a pair of black yoga pants and a white t-shirt. When his fingers brushed silk underneath the shirt, he jerked his hand back like he'd touched fire and zipped the bag shut in hurry, feeling his face grow hot.

_Nice, Bishop._ A voice voice that sounded suspiciously like Charlie's berated him. _Very classy!_

Ignoring the seventh grader in him that wanted to take another look, he pushed the bag to the side and lifted the floor panel covering the spare tire. A black tire iron was clipped in place in the recessed area.

_That'll do nicely, _he thought to himself.

Peter quickly removed the iron and moved away from Olivia's truck, toward the other two vehicles parked next to hers. He stopped at the rear of second one, peeking around the corner of the suv to watch the right side of the building. After a moment, he decided to move closer to get a better view. Olivia could lecture him about staying behind all she wanted, but judging from the all engines he could hear in the area, they needed all the help they could get.

He sprinted across the parking lot toward the front of the building to the right of the entrance, and then worked his way down the wall towards the corner. As he neared the end of the wall, he heard a shout that sounded like Olivia, and he peered around the corner toward the rear of the building.

There was a bearded man running toward him, a thin looking fellow, his blue shirt open and flapping behind him. Peter pulled his head back a little, watching as the man looked back over his shoulder at Olivia, who had just come into view, trailing after the man with her gun aimed at his back.

A transformer, mounted up high on the side of the building, suddenly exploded in a shower of sparks, and arcs of electricity shot out of it in all directions. Olivia recoiled at the conflagration, her gun wavering as she moved for cover.

Peter pulled back from the corner, his finger's grip on the tire iron tightening almost to the point of being painful as the sound of the man's footsteps grew closer. He waited until the last possible moment, and then stepped around the corner, swinging the tire iron with all his might.

Joseph Meegar's eyes went wide as he ran straight into the swinging tire iron, which hit him in his upper chest with a sickening crunch. He let out a grunt of pain, his feet flying out in front of him as his upper body was knocked backwards from the force of the blow. His head connected with the pavement first with a loud thud that made Peter wince, and then the rest of him came down and he lay still.

Peter stared down at him, following the path of the blood running down his face from his beard up to what looked like studs of metal sticking out of each of the man's temples. He didn't know what the hell he was looking at, but they looked extremely painful. Walter would have loved to see them, he was quite sure of that.

"Nice timing. You're pretty good with that."

He looked up to see Olivia approaching them, looking exhausted but content as she slid her gun back into its holster and snapped it into place. There was dust on her face, but she looked as nice as ever in the bright afternoon sun.

"I try." he said with a grin. "You okay?"

Olivia nodded, and ran hand across her forehead, wiping away a bead of sweat. "Yeah." she said after a moment, and looked down at Joseph Meegar. "He wouldn't stop running. I was afraid I was gonna have to shoot him."

Peter moved the her side and she nodded down at the tire iron. "Where'd you get that?" she asked.

"Your trunk." he answered, looking back toward her vehicle. "It was the best I could come up with on short notice."

She grinned faintly and pulled out her cell phone. "I need to call for an ambulance." she said, glancing down at the unconscious Meegar. "What do you think those bits of metal are?"

"No idea. That would be a question for Walter." Peter said, and crouched down over the man to take a closer look at the metal studs in his temple. "They look painful as hell, though."

Olivia just grunted in reply, and then moved away from them, putting the phone up to her ear. Peter watched her for a moment before pushing off his knees and rising to his feet as Charlie Francis came around the corner of the building.

He looked down at Joseph Meegar's unconscious condition, frowning at the metal studs and the blood on his face, and then glanced at the tire iron Peter was still holding. Charlie raised and eyebrow but made no comment on it, to Peter's surprise.

"This the perp?" Charlie said. "Liv didn't tell me we were chasing down Frankenstein's monster."

Peter chuckled at the agent's unexpected quip, "Tell me about it. Luckily, this guy might have been a little easier to take down, though."

Siren's began to wail in the distance, the alternating high and low pitches evidence of Olivia's contact with the ambulance district. As the sound grew steadily nearer, he realized that the roar of the heavy equipment engines in the background was gone, and had been for sometime. Apparently Meegar's ability only worked while he was conscious.

The arrival of the ambulance and a whole fleet of police cars ended any further conversation between them as Charlie moved to intercept the police while a team of paramedics rushed toward Meegar carrying a stretcher and a bulky-looking first aid kit.

Peter moved away to let the medics work as they formed a huddle around the unconscious man. He returned the tire iron to Olivia's trunk, and then looked around for the woman herself briefly, before spotting her pacing a track off to one side away from the commotion, on the phone again, most likely briefing Broyles on the situation.

The paramedics working on Meegar seemed to have come to an agreement on what was to be done with him, and they wrapped a gauze around the wounds on his head, and then two of them began working him onto the stretcher. He let out a groan at the jostling, and a third paramedic removed a syringe from their kit and tapped out the air bubbles. He jabbed it into the bicep of Meegar's right arm, and depressed the plunger, informing the others that he'd been instructed to sedate the man if he showed signs of waking, that he was extremely dangerous to himself and to others.

The injection seemed to wake Meegar briefly and he tried unsuccessfully to sit up as the medics began pushing the stretcher toward the open rear doors of the waiting ambulance. Peter trailed after them, and spotted Olivia waiting with arms crossed, standing near the back of the ambulance.

"I heard one of the medics say that they were instructed to keep him heavily sedated." he said as he moved to her side, "I assume that's your doing?"

Olivia nodded expressionlessly, keeping her eyes on Meegar as waited to be loaded into the back of the ambulance.

"I guess you don't want him pulling his whole electro-man thing again." Peter joked, hoping to break her reserve, they'd just solved the case, after all. She should be happy, instead of looking like her dog had just died.

She ignored his comment, and moved toward the stretcher, motioning for the medics to give her a moment with Joseph Meegar before he was taken away.

"Mr. Meegar." Olivia said as she approached the stretcher.

"Miss!" Joseph said desperately. "Do you know where they're taking me? No one will tell me where I'm going!"

"They're taking you to the hospital." Olivia said severely. "They're going to perform some exams. Check to see that your head's okay...And then I'm gonna have some questions for you."

"I just want to go home." he replied groggily, as the sedative began to take effect. "I...I never meant to hurt anyone."

"We're going to try to help you get better."

"That's what they said, too." Meegar reached out for her, but Olivia stepped back, unwilling to let him touch her. "Please...I just want to go home. I want to go back to before..." he gasped, his arm dropping limply to his side.

Olivia shook her slowly. "I'm afraid that's not going to happen, Mr. Meegar." she said gravely. "I'll be seeing you soon."

She nodded at the paramedics to proceed, and then stepped back to Peter's side wordlessly as they lifted the stretcher and pushed Joseph Meegar into the rear of the ambulance. When they slammed the doors shut, she turned to him, a hint of questioning in her gaze, as if she thought he might disapprove of her handling of the situation.

Peter shrugged, watching the ambulance as it pulled away from them. "What's really gonna happen to him?"

"I don't have the clearance to know that yet." she replied with more than a little irritation. "After we're done questioning him...His fate is in hand's of Broyles, and whoever he reports to."

"Nice." he muttered. "What...Broyles doesn't trust you?"

Before Olivia could reply there was a commotion at the entrance to the building. A man in handcuffs was being lead outside through the throng of onlooking police officers and medical personnel by Charlie, who was applying steady pressure at his back.

"Who's this guy?" he said, nodding at the man as Charlie forced him into the back of one of the government vehicles practiced efficiency.

"That's Jacob Fischer," Olivia said darkly. "The man responsible for giving Joseph Meegar his abilities. He's real bastard."

"So what now?" Peter asked, feeling his stomach grumble. Lunchtime was hours ago, and his body was beginning to let him know it.

"No we go to the hospital, and pay a friendly visit Joseph Meegar, when he's ready." Olivia replied, mating actions with words and began walking purposefully toward her parked suv. She looked back at him. "You coming with me?"

"Can we pick up some food on the way?" he said, hurrying to catch up with her.

"Do you ever thing about anything but food, Peter?" she said, casting an amused look his way. "How can you be hungry after all that pie you ate this morning?"

Peter grinned, showing his teeth. "That was this morning. I'm a growing boy, Olivia." he said playfully. "Besides, some of us require more than one meal a day." He gave her a nudge with his elbow for emphasis.

Olivia returned the favor with a quick elbow of her own in his ribs, which nearly knocked the breath out of him. She really was stronger than she appeared.

"Oww!" Peter protested, rubbing his side. "I think that was a little uncalled for, Dunham."

"Get in the car, Bishop." she said pertly, moving around the hood to her door. "We'll get you your food if that'll make you happy."

"Oh, it will." he assured her with a smirk, and slid onto the seat beside her.

* * *

**Olivia** sat beside Joseph Meegar's hospital bed, watching the man struggle to keep his composure, while Peter hovered in the background, leaning against the wall near the door with his hands in his pockets. The metal studs had been removed from his temples, and the top half of his head was wrapped with a thick bandage which resembled a white skull cap.

"So tell me," she said gently. "How was it that the man you knew as Dr. Foster, was able to lure you into his facility?" When he didn't respond right away, she continued. "I know this is difficult for you, Joseph, but we need to determine if there's anyone else like you out there, anyone that was...taken advantage of in the same way you were. Do you understand?"

After a moment Joseph nodded, and then began to speak, staring upwards at the white ceiling, his head shaking futilely. "There was this ad in the back of a magazine..." He swallowed, and his eyes began to glisten with tears, and Olivia thought he was on the verge of breaking down again.

"Do you happen to remember what magazine it was?" Peter said from his place near the door.

"It was...it was a men's...magazine." Joseph admitted, sounding embarrassed, his cheeks coloring as he glanced her direction.

"Hey, we've all been there." Peter grinned sympathetically. "No worries."

Joseph grinned weakly at him, and seemed a little more together than he had been. Olivia was pleasantly surprised at Peter's ability to put him at ease with just a friendly word. She wondered if it was something in his unknown, less than savory past, of which he'd told her very little as of yet, that had given him his ability to read people, or it was just a gift he'd been born with. She tended to think he'd been born with it, and wondered idly if he favored Walter, or his unknown mother more.

"Joseph, what was it about the ad that drew you to it?" Olivia asked, catching his eyes.

Joseph hesitated, and took a deep breath. "My whole life, I've never...never really been...one of _those people_. Everything...comes hard for me, you know what I mean?" he said, looking in Peter's direction. "My mother..." he began, and then stopped, wiping at his eyes, before continuing. "My mother...she used to tell me that there were two kinds of people in life, the winners...the people that for them...everything comes easy. And the rest were the losers. People like me, she would say." His voice broke then, and tears flowed freely for a few minutes, before he was finally able to speak again. "Anyways...the ads talked about...they talked about untapping your hidden potential, making a better you, they said. I thought...I thought it couldn't hurt. It couldn't make me any worse, at least." he finished bitterly.

"What happened when you responded to the ad, Joseph?" she asked, keeping her voice light.

"They wanted me to come in to their office." Joseph said through a sniffle. "So that they could run some tests on me...to see if I was a candidate for their procedure."

"What kind of tests?" Peter asked.

"Hypnosis, some kind of brain scan." He dabbed at his nose with the edge of his bedding. "I don't really know. They said wanted to...to...realign the electrical impulses in my brain, and that it would make me a more confident person."

"Did you ever see anyone else at their office?" Olivia asked. "Anyone else undergoing the same procedure as you?"

Joseph shook his head, "No...there was never anyone else there." he said, and then covered his face with his hands. "God, I'm such an idiot! My mother was right...I'm so stupid...I'm so stupid..." He kept repeating the phrase, over and over, clawing at his face.

When the lights in the room began to flicker, she looked over at Peter, and nodded toward the door. He got the message and exited the room, hopefully to find someone to re-administer his sedatives. Peter returned a moment later with a nurse, who moved to the Joseph's IV pole and went about replacing his fluid bag.

They weren't going to get anything else useful out of him, she decided. Jacob Fischer was too smart to have let anything slip in front of one of his patients. Olivia rose from her seat and moved toward the hallway outside the room, dragging Peter along in her wake.

.

Olivia pulled over under a streetlight near the curb at Peter's hotel. Walter was already back, courtesy of Astrid who had called earlier to notify them the she would be dropping him off there.

"You should get some sleep, Olivia." Peter said, looking over at her while he unbuckled his seat belt. "It's been what, nearly thirty-six hours?"

"I plan on it." she said, feeling amusement and some wonder at his concern. He'd come a long way from the angry man she'd dragged back from Iraq. "Good work today, Peter." she said, meeting his eyes. "With the pigeons and stopping Meegar, and at the hospital, getting him to open up to us."

Peter shrugged indifferently, brushing her comments aside. "Just luck, I think. It was Walter's idea." he said modestly. "Right place, right time." He went to open his door, but stopped, and looked back at her like there was more he wanted to say.

_Please don't_, she thought at him desperately. He wanted to talk about the hallway outside the lab, she was sure of it. _Not right now, Peter, please._

She didn't know if he'd received her thoughts subliminally, or if there was something showing on her face, but after a moment he sighed, and dropped his eyes, then pushed open his door and slid out of his seat and onto the curb. He leaned down, with one hand on the door and the other on side of her car.

"Olivia...if you..." he started, then stopped, looking downwards. "Nevermind...I'll see ya." he said, and closed the door before she could reply.

Olivia watched him move down the sidewalk, his tall framed waxing and waning in the light cast by the streetlights as he moved toward the hotel entrance.

"See ya." she whispered, as he pulled open the glass door and went inside. He greeted the concierge stationed inside the entrance vestibule and then was gone. She pulled away from the curb, and watched his hotel dwindle in the rearview mirror until she was forced to turn and it was gone.

The thought of going back to her empty apartment was not at all appealing, so she went for a drive instead despite her exhaustion, taking the east ramp instead of the west onto I-90 at the last possible moment, as downtown seemed as good a direction as any to go.

Olivia drove in silence, as was usual for her, thinking confused thoughts about Peter and about John, replaying the day he died over in her head, and then the hallucination she'd had outside the lab. They hardly seemed like the same man. Why had she allowed herself to kiss him like that? If he were still alive, his denial of attempting to kill her would have surely fallen on deaf ears. If she were that desperate for physical contact, why not head to her bar in Brighton? Judging by how often men, and women occasionally, had offered to buy her drinks there in the past, she would have no problems finding some faceless stranger to take home. She had always turned them down with a glance and a quick shake of her head before, but what if she didn't? What if she were to accept the drinks, and see where they took her? She turned the idea over and over in her head, weighing the pros and cons of doing such a thing.

She finally came to the conclusion that it was a bad idea, a product of an overextended and exhausted state of mind. Fucking some random man was not going to make the hallucinations stop. If it were that easy, she was certain that she knew of someone who wasn't a stranger, who would be more than willing to oblige her. No, there was something physically wrong with her, she was almost sure of it. Maybe she had brain cancer, or some other horrible malady.

Bright red neon letters, mounted atop a building off the highway caught her attention. Olivia stared at the sign, confused as to how she could be at Chinatown so soon. She didn't remember driving through the intervening space between Cambridge and her current location. Coming out of her haze, she took the next exit off the highway which curled around to the west. She opted for staying off the highway for the drive back to Brighton and continued west through Chinatown, past the street that would take her to her favorite chinese restaurant in the city.

The sidewalks were still crowded with young-looking men and women, laughing and carrying on, unaware of all the terrible people and things that she knew were real. She felt envious of their carefree existence and pity for them at the same time, or maybe the pity was for herself. With every case she worked in her new position under Broyles, she sensed the chasm between herself and what her sister Rachel would term as 'normal people', growing steadily wider. There had always been a distance between herself and others, ever since what had happened with her stepfather when she was a girl. Becoming a federal agent had only widened the gap, but now...it was increasing exponentially. It was like Broyles had told her the day he recruited her...she couldn't go back to before, ever.

The bright lights of Chinatown were fading in her mirrors, and she realized that Bay Village was upon her. John's old apartment was only a few blocks away to the north. She wondered if his mother had sold it yet, or was planning on holding on to it. The streets were darker and the nightlife was absent in the area of the neighborhood she was driving through, though she knew there were certainly areas of Bay Village there were lively enough. John had taken her to some them, in what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Olivia spied a man in a suit walking down the sidewalk ahead of her on the opposite side of the street, next to a gray brick apartment building with rusty fire escapes and window air conditioning units hanging over head. She pulled up abreast of the man, glancing over at him she drove past, and only felt a slight shock at seeing John Scott staring back at her. She really was getting used to the whole going crazy thing.

She quickly pulled over to the curb and got out, remembering at least to turn her car off, but not bothering to lock the doors. John had continued at the same pace, his lengthy stride propelling him ahead of her down the sidewalk. A dog began to bark nearby, maybe protesting at her intrusion, or maybe it had sensed John's specter in the area, she didn't know, or care, really. She glanced back in the direction of the noise, then hurried across the street after John's retreating form, increasing her speed when he suddenly turned down a side street and disappeared. Olivia rushed after him, anticipation at seeing what would happen next making her heart thud loudly in her chest. Turning the corner, she saw him hurrying down a stairwell set into the side of another apartment building not far from her. She raced after him, spinning around a fenced gate at the stairwell's entrance, and then skipping down the steps to a narrow landing with a door set into the concrete foundation of the building. Thinking that John must have gone through the door, she twisted the knob, surprised to find that it was locked.

_Of course it's locked! You're chasing after a hallucination, Olivia._

She looked around, considering whether to go back to her vehicle for the lockpick set she kept in her glovebox. Impatiently, she decided her pistol would work just was well, and she shot through the locking mechanism. The report was deafening in the enclosed space, and for a moments she couldn't hear a thing, there was just a ringing in her ears. When she could finally hear again, she threw her shoulder into the door, knocking it back on its hinges.

Inside the door was a dark hallway, with brick walls on both sides. It smelled faintly of dust and mold, as old cellars tended to. Olivia moved inside, keeping her gun drawn and held out before as she worked her way toward a turn in the corridor ahead. When she reached the corner, she peeked around the edge with her pistol.

John was standing about twenty feet away from her at the end of the corridor, hands on his hips, ruffling his suit jacket. He was bathed in blue light from an outside window out of her line of sight, and was watching her intently. They stared at each other for a moment, and she waited for him to speak, to tell her more of his lies, but for once, his apparition didn't appear to be in a talkative mood.

Olivia came fully around the corner, and spotted a light switch on the wall next to her. She glanced down at it and flicked it on. Yellow light banished the blue, taking John with it. The space he'd been standing was empty, in his place was a doorway to what looked like a storage room. She moved forward into the room, keeping her gun drawn more out of comfort, than for any real sense of danger.

The room was small, and instead of a storage room, it appeared to be an office of some kind, complete with desk and file cabinets, and rows of tiered shelves stuffed full of boxes. The desk was situated in a corner, with noteboards mounted on the walls above it. The noteboards were a collage of overlapping pictures and handwritten notes, all pinned on top of one another.

Putting her gun back in its holster, she stepped closer to the shelves, inspecting the boxes. Each was marked with a series of numbers and letters, which if she wasn't mistaken, looked suspiciously like the case numbering system that was used at the Bureau. Several were marked in thick black ink with the word _Unsolved_ scrawled hastily across the front of the box. She thought it might be John's handwriting.

"What the hell is this place, John?" she said out loud, hoping he might appear and answer. "Why did you lead me here?"

He didn't appear, or answer.

Her instincts as an agent took over then, and she retreated from the cellar, unwilling to disturb the scene in any further. When she was back on the street outside the stairwell, she called the FBI dispatch and requested a forensic team to her location as soon as possible, which meant immediately, she'd had to inform the disgruntled dispatcher. She waited until they arrived, then gave them strict orders to catalog and process everything, and send a complete inventory to Special Agent Broyles in the morning.

By the time Olivia was able to leave the team on their own, her level of exhaustion was nearly overwhelming, and she barely made it back to her apartment in one piece after nodding off several times, with only the curb saving her from hitting a lightpole on one occasion.

Inside her apartment, she went straight to her bedroom, removing her clothing on the way, and collapsed on her comforter, falling almost instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep.

.

The next day Olivia slept in, and wasn't able to drag herself out of bed until the insistent ringing of her cell phone out in her living room finally woke her from her stupor, early in the afternoon. Her phone had been chock full of missed calls, one each from Peter and Astrid, and several from the office, including two from Broyles. He left a message with last call, telling her to find him when she made it in.

In the Federal Building, after stopping by her office to check her email, she moved the short distance down the hall to Broyles's door, knocked once, and then stuck her head in.

Broyles looked up at her entrance, and rose from his seat in greeting.

"Dunham." he said, motioning for her to come inside. "How are you doing?"

"Sorry for being so late, sir." she began, "I just over-"

"Don't worry about it." Broyles interrupted, waving her excuse away. "You gotta sleep sometime."

Olivia noticed that there was cardboard box sitting on his desk. It looked like one from the cellar she'd found. "So what all did they find in the cellar?" she asked.

Broyles sat back on the edge of his desk. "The team is still cataloging all the files that were in the cellar." he said, and then hesitated. "But from what we've found so far...they seem to indicate that John Scott was conducting his own investigations."

Olivia steeled her face into a mask before replying. "Did the files give any indication of who he might've been working for?"

Broyles shook his head, staring down into the cardboard box. "Not that we can see." he said grimly. "But it appears that many of the cases he'd been working on were Pattern-related."

"He knew about _The Pattern_?" Olivia said, feeling dumbfounded by this new revelation. Had she ever really known John at all?

Broyles nodded sternly. "He also knew about our friend Dr. Fischer." he said, and reached into the box. He pulled out thick file folder. "In fact, he knew quite a bit more than we did. Including seven other potential Joseph Meegar's that Fischer was subjecting to treatments."

He opened the file and passed it over to her. Olivia quickly glanced through the contents; newspaper clippings with the ads of the sort Joseph hand mentioned highlighted, and what looked like medical records, complete with pictures, of a number of men she didn't recognize.

"Fortunately, none of them had activated yet." Broyles continued. "We were able to locate all seven. Medical services is examining them now, but they appear to be fine, thanks to you. Good work, all around on this case, Dunham."

"You should thank the Bishops." Olivia replied, closing the file and handing it back to him. "We would never located Meegar without both of them. What about Jacob Fischer? Has he given us anything?"

"Fischer's still refusing to cooperate," he answered, his voice showing some irritation. "But I suspect six weeks in solitary confinement might change his mind."

Olivia wasn't so sure. Fischer had seemed too arrogant and sure of himself for her liking. "Well, I hope you're right about that." she said dubiously.

"There was also something else." Broyles said after a moment of strangely uncomfortable silence. He reached into the box and pulled out a small black box. "John Scott's personal effects." he said, handing the box to her across the desk. "It would seem that some of them were intended for you." Their eyes met briefly, and then he turned and left, closing his office door behind him.

Olivia stared down at the box like it had Pandora written across the top. She didn't want to open it...didn't want to see whatever it was. Nothing good could come of it. Her crept out finally, and she flipped back the lock holding the top shut.

Taking a breath, she pushed open the lid and peered in at the contents. The first thing she saw were several pictures of John as a boy, lying on top of some paperwork, which turned out to be his discharge papers from the Marines. His dog tags were there as well, along with his passport. She picked up the dog tags, examining the imprinted letters and numbers, before putting then down and removing the passport. She was about to open it when her eyes fell on a small, black box that had been hidden underneath.

A jewelry box.

_Oh, god...Please don't be a ring...Please don't be a ring..._ She kept repeating the mantra in her head as she dropped the passport and reached for the small box. It was covered in velvet, and she held her breath as she slowly eased back the top.

Her breath came out in a rush, and she felt like she'd just received a punch in the gut as she saw what was inside.

It was a ring. A diamond solitaire engagement ring, if she wanted to be specific. The diamond was huge, much larger and more garish than she would have ever picked out for herself.

With trembling fingers, Olivia pulled it out of the box to examine it more closely. The diamond glistened in the over head lights, and she wondered how many thousands of dollars he'd payed for it. And when he'd payed for it. They had never talked about marriage before, and had only just reached the point of exchanging I love you's in their relationship when it had come to its deadly conclusion.

There was an inscription around the flat, inside edge of the band. She held it up to the light to read. It was just one word.

_Always_

His words from the hallucination at the Federal Building came back to her.

_You know I loved you. I did. Always. _

Olivia squeezed the ring in a tight fist, wishing she'd never opened the box. It didn't change anything, it couldn't. He'd never given it to her, never mentioned it or marriage to her. _What the hell am I supposed to do with this, John?_ She thought angrily, and slid the ring back into its slot in the jewelry box. She snapped the lid shut and put the box in her coat pocket, then picked up the larger box and carried it to her office. She put the box in one of her desk drawers, leaving it to deal with at another time.

For whatever reason, the ring stirred her determination to talk to Walter about the visions, and with that in mind, she reached for her phone. Hopefully, she could corner him without Peter or Astrid around.

* * *

**Walter** reached for the last udder, squeezing and pulling on it in a manner he hoped Gene found pleasurable. The milk began to flow, coming out in a squirt with each downward stroked toward the metal bucket sitting underneath. He'd always found milking cows to be relaxing, allowing his mind to think while his hands maintained the repetitive motion, even before his stay in _that place_, and the practice had come back to him with surprising ease. It didn't hurt that he absolutely loved fresh milk, as well. Unfortunately, he'd been having some difficulty in finding anyone to share it with, as Peter and his young lab assistant both refused to try it, unlike Belly, who'd always been more than happy to drink with him. He heard a moo, and glanced down at his hands. The udders had finally run dry.

"Oh...sorry, my girl." he said rising off the stool and giving Gene a pat on her flank. Her head swiveled toward him, staring at him with one eye. "Let's just keep this between you and I, eh?"

Walter gave her an affectionate pat on the head between her ears, and then grabbed the milk bucket and carried it over to the bunsen burner he'd set up earlier for pasteurization. He poured the milk into a flask and set it over the burner for heating.

"Who was that on the telephone, dear?" he said to the young woman who'd just come out of Agent Dunham's office.

"That was Olivia." she replied, and moved toward the stack of boxes sitting in the middle of the floor. "I think she's on her way here. She asked if Peter was around."

Walter's ears perked up at the mention of his son. "Oh?" he said, turning toward her. "Did Agent Dunham mention why she needed him?"

He had such high hopes for the two of them. It was highly gratifying to watch their courtship ritualistic behavior on a daily basis, even if they would never admit to it being such. Yet. He smiled merrily, thinking about how angry Peter would be if he were able to read his thoughts at that moment.

"She didn't say..." the young woman replied. "Just asked if he was around." She started past him, then stopped and turned back with pretty grin. "Why are you so interested, Walter?"

She was on to him! Walter hurriedly began stirring the milk with a glass implement. "What's that?" he said, feigning distraction. "Oh...it..it was merely a curiosity, my dear."

"Mmhmm." the young woman...Astro grunted, tilting her head in a womanly way. "I'll bet it was." she said, bending down to pick up one of his file boxes. "Now where do you want these?"

"If you could take that one down to storage, it would be ever so lovely, Astro." he said, reading the writing scrawled on the side of the box, and feeling relieved to have successfully turned her attention from his machinations.

"It's Astrid." Astro said through pursed lips.

"Of course, dear." Walter said, tapping the glass rod on the edge of the flask.

Wasn't that what he'd said? Maybe the poor girl had bad hearing. Or she could be suffering from a bad cerumen occlusion. Perhaps he could convince her to let him take a look. It would really be no trouble at all. If his memory served, he had developed a compound which eradicated the substance in the inner ears of rats with just a drop back in 1979. Mostly side effect free too, which was always a plus in his estimation. Now if he could only recall the exact chemical composition... Had he been experimenting with Belly on LSD ingestion through the ear canal at the time? He couldn't quite remember, it was so long ago.

Returning his attention to the flask of milk, Walter leaned forward, wafting the earthy aroma toward him with one hand. It was nearly ready. He removed a beaker from its nearby stand, and then rinsed out the remains of his last experiment into a lab sink.

The young agent returned from the basement storage and grabbed another box from the pile. He caught the writing on the side as she turned back toward the stairwell. It was dated late in 1985. There had been nothing but failed experiments in the latter half of that year. Had he been distracted? Elizabeth...Peter! What had happened? Was it the lake? The...accident? Was that what had caused the distraction? He didn't want to know. He didn't want look at anything from that place in time.

"That...that one can go out the back, we won't be needing it." he managed to get out, before she'd gone a step or two down the stairs. "Thank you, my dear."

"What's my name?" she said, moving back up the stairwell and toward the exit.

"It uh...starts with an 'A', yes?" Walter said, and grabbed a pair of tongs of the table in front of him.

"Astrid." she said, shaking her head at him. "I just told you that a few minutes ago, remember?"

"Ahhh...I knew it!" Walter said with a laugh. At least he would never have to look in that box again.

Gripping the flask of hot milk in the tongs, he poured it carefully into the beaker, leaning forward again to take in the smell. It was perfect. He blew down into the beaker, and then took a sip, closing his eyes to focus his sense of taste. The milk tasted as delightful as it had smelled. Those other fools didn't know what they were missing. When he opened his eyes again, Agent Dunham was moving toward him across the lab.

"Ah ha, Olivia." Walter said, smiling at the sight of the pretty agent. "Peter told me to tell you, if I saw you, that he was returning the pigeon cages." He took another sip of the milk, and let out a sigh of pleasure.

"Walter," Olivia said uncertainly. "What is that?"

"This?" he said, gesturing with beaker.

Olivia nodded.

"Ah...that's milk, from Gene." he said, looking over at the cow, and then remembering his manners. "Do you want some? It's really quite wonderful."

"I think I'll pass." Olivia said with a grin, seemingly amused at his consumption of something perfectly natural.

"Are you certain?" he asked, pushing the beaker her way.

"Um-huh." she grunted, leaning back slightly.

There was an air about her, a...hesitation, that he wouldn't normally associate with the headstrong agent. Her strange behavior in their hotel room, and the incident Peter had mentioned, but not fully explained, that had happened in the hallway outside the lab, had left him curious. He'd devoted several minutes of thought to the matter while in the restroom earlier that day, as matter of fact. Based on her recent medical history that he was aware of, he'd come to several possible conclusions, and none of them were good. He examined her features, noting the paleness in her cheeks, the slight dilation of her eyes.

"The color in your face." he said finally, when she looked like she might turn and leave. "You're looking a little pallid. Are you feeling well, Agent Dunham?"

"I'm fine." she said, reaching up to tug on her earlobe. "I'm a little tired...that's all." she added with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Well...I don't yet know you well enough to ask this," he began, "But, uh... you haven't seemed yourself lately."

Olivia looked away from him, her eyes darting around the lab. "I haven't been sleeping very well lately, Walter." She hesitated, and her voice dropped to a near whisper when she went on. "I...I've been...I've been...nothing." she gasped suddenly. "Nevermind. See you tomorrow." She turned around quickly and walked back the way she'd came toward the exit.

He was right. It was the procedure. He was hoping that he'd been wrong. "Have you been seeing him?" Walter said to her back. "Your friend...John Scott?"

Olivia froze, and then turned back around, eyes wide. Her mouth fell open as he continued.

"I'm not surprised." he said sadly. "There is a reason, you know."

"I've been having hallucinations." she said in that whispering voice. "I...I thought I was going crazy..."

"No, not crazy." Walter said, shaking his head. "And not...hallucinations."

"Walter?" Olivia said urgently, when he didn't reply after a moment. "What is it? What's happening to me?"

"I...I can't be sure." he admitted, thinking furiously for a solution, and failing. The only solution was time. "The brain is a mystery…but I believe, that when you were in the tank, synchronized mentally with John Scott...that part of his consciousness may have crossed over into yours."

"What?" she gasped, raising both hands to her head.

"And it's still there." he went on as if she hadn't spoken. She had to hear it, to understand it. "His memories, experiences, his thoughts. You understand me, yes?"

Olivia shook her head, keeping eyes on him. "But these aren't memories, Walter!" she said despondently. "He appears...right in front of me, he talks to me. He...he's called me on the phone..."

"Yes...he would, like a waking dream...because he doesn't belong there." Walter said, nodding his head. Her condition was worse than he'd thought. He had only been expecting images, reflections, dreams of her dead lover. Voices out of nowhere, possibly. He gave her a sad smile. "There's only room for one voice in your head, Agent Dunham...not two. This is your brain's way of working it out. Your mind is trying to expel him...exorcise his thoughts from yours."

"He'll...he'll go away...is that what you're saying?" she asked, sounding as if she were being torn in two.

"I don't know." he replied with a shrug. "Do you really want him to?"

Olivia stared at him, her mouth open to reply. Walter could almost hear the thoughts that must be running through her mind. Of course she wanted him out of her head, how could she not? But if he were facing the same dilemma with his Elizabeth, he thought it might be worth it, whatever the consequences to himself, just to hear her voice again. And to see her...alive again, well, he would be willing to do almost anything.

_You know all about consequences, don't you?_ Walter that was suddenly asked.

Walter did his best to ignore the voice. It had no right to intrude at that moment. Besides, he didn't have any idea what it was talking about.

Olivia struggled to respond for a moment longer, then turned and walked slowly out of the lab without another word. Walter stared after her, wondering if he should mention any of it to Peter. She'd never specified secrecy, but...she had waited until Peter was gone to come to him. She must have had a reason for doing so. Whatever it was, he would respect it, and hold his tongue until she told him herself.

Unless of course, she went insane first, he thought idly. That was always a possibility when one went into the tank. He had mentioned that to her, back in the beginning, hadn't he? Surely he had.

Walter drank down the rest of his milk with a contented sigh. It truly was delicious.

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**So that's then end of 1x05! Finally. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!**


	40. Chapter 39 - Interlude III

**Chapter 39**

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**-Brighton, Massachusetts**

**Olivia **pushed her cart slowly down the cereal aisle, scanning the bold lettering on the front of the boxes for anything that didn't look its target audience was a seven year old. She passed over the familiar box of corn flakes, hoping that something else would catch her interest. The selection was limited in the small grocery store near her apartment, but occasionally they would get something in stock that would surprise her on her infrequent visits. The last time she had found a particularly good off-brand shredded wheat with vanilla that had been surprisingly good while it lasted. She reached the end of the aisle, and having found nothing that looked edible, swiveled her cart back the way she'd came. Being the creature of habit that she was, she returned to the section which housed her trusty standby, and grabbed a box corn flakes on her way past, tossing it into her half empty cart. Why was it that the cereal manufacturers were unable to create a cereal for adults that didn't resemble bird feed or contain enough nuts to fill her nut quota for the entire year in a single box? Something simple, like her corn flakes, was what she was looking for.

It had been over a week since the Meegar case, and with no other cases of the abnormal variety popping up on the FBI's radar, she found herself with enough time on her hands to finally get around to restocking her empty pantry and refrigerator. Her late night diet of whiskey and whatever else she could rustle up, which lately had been said corn flakes, was beginning to get a bit stale. Not to mention that she was out of whiskey, and wasn't planning on buying any more this shopping cycle. With all of her worry over her..._condition_, she'd been hitting it pretty hard, nearly every night.

Thankfully though, there had been no more ghostly appearances of John, or waking dreams as Walter had called them, since he'd led her to his secret office in Bay Village. Nothing at all to indicate there was another consciousness sharing her head with her. She felt surprisingly good...almost her normal self even, at least, normal enough to recognize that she needed to take a break from her friend Johnny Walker.

She moved turned her cart down the canned goods aisle, grabbing several cans of crushed tomatoes and some chicken noodle soup as she moved toward the nest aisle. After coming home late after a case to find nothing edible in her refrigerator one too many times, she had learned to keep her selection of perishable food items to a minimum, preferring to only buy something fresh when it would be eaten immediately. Cooking was something she enjoyed, though she was no great cook by any means, but it seemed as though she hardly ever had the time for it anymore. It was something she intended to remedy that night, and take the opportunity that a work free weekend was providing.

After getting some Italian sausage, fettuccine noodles, and a loaf of fresh bread, Olivia grabbed several frozen veggie pizzas from the frozen food aisle, and then moved toward the cash registers. The beer and liquor section caught her eye as she moved past it, and on an impulse, she swung her cart down the row of glass-door coolers. Stopping in front of the imported beer, she pulled open the door and reached in for a six pack of Red Stripe and placed it the cart next to her carton of milk. A bottle of red table wine also made it into her cart before she was able to make her escape back to the line of customers waiting to checkout. Just because she was on breaks with Johnny, she didn't mind spending some time with some of his less intense friends.

.

It was nearly seven o'clock, and the sun beginning to set by time she finally made it through the checkout line and was able to load up her suv and head back to her apartment. Pushing open the door inside with her back, she juggled her bag of groceries inside, and then kicked the door shut behind her, wincing at the sound of the unintentional slam.

Olivia had missed a call while she was gone, the flashing red light on her answering machine informing her of it on her way through the living room. After putting away the groceries she wouldn't need for her dinner, Olivia turned on the heat under the sausage, and then moved out to the living room to playback the message while she prepared her dinner. She pushed the play button, and returned to the kitchen as the machine told her in its robotic voice that she had one unheard message.

_Hey Liv! _Rachel's voice sounded from the other room._ It's me! How are you? It's been what, almost a month since we've talked last? I wanted to check to see if it was still okay for me and the little munchkin to come for a visit in a month or so? Ella's literally going to die if she doesn't get to go to Boston, her words not mine…_

Olivia smiled to herself as she began chopping an onion, picturing her little niece announcing it in dramatic fashion.

_To be honest, I wouldn't mind some time away from Chicago, either. _Rachel went on in a lower voice. _Things have gotten…more difficult around here since we spoke last. _There was a pause, and a sniffling sound, and then she went on, forcing a false brightness into her tone. _So anyways, give me a call back and we can work out the details. See ya, Liv._

The message ended, and she shook her head, feeling tendrils of rage forcing their way down her synapses. _Goddamn Greg!_ She'd known her sister's optimism wouldn't last. What was it going to be this time? Another woman? More verbal abuse? Maybe it had finally gotten physical, as Olivia had worried that it might. Her sister's willingness to just accept his bullshit drove her crazy! When was she going to realize that he was a liar, and a bastard, and that having her daughter grow up with him as a male role model, even if he was her father, was worse than having no father figure at all!

She took a deep breath and then let it out, trying to calm herself down, and tossed the onion and a few scoops of minced garlic into the pot with the sausage. Stirring it all together, she began breaking the sausage up with a spatula, using more force than was probably needed as her thoughts returned to her sister and her jerk of a husband, despite her wishes otherwise.

Rachel should know what having an abusive parent, be it verbal or physical abuse, does to a child. _She, of all people, should fucking know better!_ Her eyes drifted involuntarily to the calendar hanging on the wall next to the door to the living room, and she sighed remorsefully, looking at the upcoming date. Maybe she didn't truly know. Rachel had only been about four years old when their stepfather had finally been forced out of their lives, and had never received the kind of…attention from him that Olivia had. Oh, she'd heard all about it, but hearing about it wasn't the same as experiencing it firsthand, at all.

Feeling sad for the situation her sister found herself in, Olivia grabbed a can of crushed tomatoes and opened it with her can opener, then poured them into the pot, along with the spices she'd had memorized for years. After stirring it all together, she put a lid on the pot and let it simmer for a while as her mother had shown when she was still a stripling girl, no more than ten or eleven years old. In the time period after her stepfather had left, but before her mother had gotten sick.

Determined to put her sister and her troubles out of her mind, she cracked open one of the Red Stripes, and sat down at the kitchen table to focus her book of crossword puzzles while the meat sauce simmered, its familiar aroma of home, already beginning to fill her apartment. After Olivia had knocked out three of the puzzles in less than half an hour, a personal record for her, she started heating a pot of water, and sliced off a few pieces of bread from the loaf, her stomach growling in anticipation at her upcoming feast. She hadn't eaten a home-cooked meal in what seemed like ages, as the litter of empty Chinese and Indian takeout boxes in her trashcan was testament to.

When the water was boiling she put in a handful of fettuccine noodles, enough for leftovers, and stirred them into the bubbling water. While she waited for the noodles to cook, she finished off the last of her Red Stripe, and debated whether to open another or have some wine with her dinner.

The ringing of her cell phone from the other room drew her attention like a magnet.

"Shit!" Olivia swore, looking sadly at her dinner that was nearly finished cooking. All she needed was another half an hour. Then she'd go wherever they wanted. She moved to her phone, lying on her mail table in the living room and checked the number.

Frowning, she stared at the display for a moment before answering, wondering why Peter would be calling her on a Saturday night.

"Hello?" she said, holding the phone up to her ear.

"Olivia." Peter's voice came through the speaker. "It's me, Peter Bis-"

"I know it's you, Peter." Olivia interrupted, grinning at his inadvertent mimicking of his father. "What's up? Is there something wrong?"

"No, no…nothing like that." Peter replied. "Look, uh…I'm in your area, and I was hoping I could stop by. I wanted to talk to you about something…if that's okay?"

Olivia froze at the question, unsure of his intentions. Her mind flew through an array of possible scenarios, trying to figure out what could have driven him to ask her such a thing out of the blue. Surely he wasn't planning on trying to…she pushed the thought away, feeling herself blush. He couldn't be.

"Nevermind," he said, obviously sensing her hesitation. "It…it can wait. I just remembered something that I thought you should know about. With all the excitement with the electro-man case, I kinda forgot about it until just now."

"Oh…" Olivia said, feeling her blood start to pump again. "Well…well, what's it about?" It sounded fairly innocent, whatever it was. She shook her head, feeling idiotic. Why had she thought otherwise?

Peter chuckled, "It's kind of a long story." he said. "That's why I wanted to talk in person. Look...you're obviously busy, so it can wait until Monday at the lab or whatever. I'll talk to you later."

"No!" she blurted out before he could hang up. "Peter, it's fine. I'm not really doing anything."

"...Are you sure?" he asked tentatively. "Cause it can wait."

"Yeah, it's no problem." Olivia said, looking around her apartment with a critical eye. "Where are you?" she asked, and then moved toward the French doors of her bedroom.

"I'm about five, ten minutes away." he replied. "What's your apartment number?"

Olivia told him her address on Strathmore and ended the call. She scooped up her clothes from the previous day, along with her pajamas and tossed them in the hamper, then hurriedly threw her comforter over her bed, straightening the pillows once it was in place. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she spun for the doorway, and paused, calculating if she had time to change her clothes before he arrived.

Probably not.

Her workout clothes would have to do. Tugging the tail of her white t-shirt lower over the stretchy black fabric of her pants, she rushed back out into the living room, looking for anything in need of a home. After a moment, she exhaled an uneasy laugh, running a hand through her ponytail. It was just Peter. He didn't care what her apartment looked like. It wasn't like his hotel room had ever been spotless the few times she'd been there. She glanced through the doorway into her kitchen and cursed at sight of steam rising from the pots on the stove.

Her dinner.

_Fuck..._

The fact that she was about to eat dinner had completely slipped her mind when she was on the phone, his unusual request distracting her from that potential complication.

There was a knock at her door, and she turned toward it, and then hesitated, looking back in the kitchen. She couldn't just eat in front of him; doing so would be exceedingly rude. Feeling a slight panic at the thought of eating with him, she glanced between her dinner and the door again, unable to decide how to proceed.

The knock was repeated, and it spurred her into action, moving her feet toward the closed front door. She unlatched the chain, and then pulled the door open to an uncertain looking Peter Bishop.

"Hey." Olivia said, taking in his appearance. He had on navy button down shirt under his corduroy jacket, tucked in at the waste, and a pair of blue jeans with a thick leather belt. His cheeks were unshaven, as was usual for him.

"Hi." he replied, glancing downwards briefly. "Uh…can I come in?" he asked after a moment, looking over her shoulder.

"Of course." she stepped to the side out of the doorway, allowing him entry. "Sorry."

Peter moved past her, pausing just inside the doorway. His gaze darted around the room, from her furniture, to the artwork above her fireplace, to the open French doors of her bedroom.

"So this is where Olivia Dunham spends her nights when she's not out tracking down mad scientists." he jested, moving further inside. "Nice place." He shot her a grin, and then stopped, sniffing at there. "What is that smell?"

Olivia trailed after him, feeling on edge. "It's…uh….I was just making some pasta when you called." she said, running a hand through her hair. "Dinner."

Peter swung back toward her, his face tinted red. "Oh…are you expecting company?" he said, "Cause I can go if you are...like I said, it can wait." He started to retreat toward the door.

"No, Peter." she said stopping him with a word. "It's fine. I'm not expecting anyone."

"All right, if you're sure." he said after moment, and walked toward the fireplace. "You go head and eat then, I'll just…wait out here."

"Okay…" Olivia hesitated, staring at his back, trying to determine what be less awkward, eating alone in her kitchen, with him in the other room, or...the other option. She started toward the kitchen and paused in the doorway, looking back at him. He was examining the mementos on the mantle above her fireplace with apparent interest.

"Peter?" she said, and he turned to face her, eyebrows raised. "If you're hungry, I…uh made some extra. I was gonna save it for leftovers, but…if you want some?" Despite the myriad of reasons why having dinner with Peter Bishop could potentially be a bad idea, the one reason she had for doing so overruled all of them. She was tired of eating alone night after night in her silent apartment.

Peter's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in surprise at her offer. Clearly, he had not been expecting any kind of invitation to join her, and his reaction reassured her that he indeed had not come with any kind of agenda. If he was still…interested in her, something which she was not all sure of at that point, he'd been doing a good job of hiding it as of late, and she shouldn't be second guessing him. He'd been nothing but gentlemanly toward her almost from the very beginning, barring the first day or two, of course, when he'd barely been civil to her or to anyone else. And even then, he'd still done as she'd asked of him. They were friends, and colleagues now that he'd decided to stay permanently, and friends could share a dinner together, and not have it mean anything more than that.

"Uhh…sure, why not?" Peter said, his face breaking into a slow grin. "You need help with anything?"

Olivia shook her head. "No, it should be ready." she said, "Sit tight, I'll be right back."

Peter nodded, and turned back toward the mantle, his wide shoulders blocking her view of which piece he was inspecting. Her gaze lingered on his back for a moment, watching as he leaned forward slightly to take a closer look at something. It should have felt strange or uncomfortable having him in her home, examining her things, but for some reason it didn't. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, but it least it would make for a less stressful dining experience.

She turned away from him and moved to the stove, removing the pasta noodles and straining them, then removing the meat sauce from the heat. After preparing two plates she, set them on the counter. When she turned to go get Peter, she found him leaning against the doorframe watching her.

"I wouldn't have picked you as a knick-knacker." he said, inclining his head back toward the living room.

Olivia grinned at his observation. She wouldn't have picked herself as one either. "Most of that stuff was my mother's." she said, grabbing some forks from her utensil drawer and setting them next to the plates. "They were her favorite pieces."

Peter nodded, but didn't take the opening to ask about her mother. Instead, he walked over to the stove and peered into the meat sauce pot. "To be honest," he said, looking over at her. "I wouldn't have picked you for a cook, either. But clearly, I was wrong about that."

Olivia snorted. "Well, you haven't tasted it yet." she said. Compared to her sister she was a chef, but everyone to everyone else, not so much.

"Here." She passed Peter his plate, loaded with fettuccine covered in meat sauce, and a thick slice of bread, along with a napkin and fork. "We'll eat out here." she said, picking up her own plate and moving toward the living room. The relaxed seating arrangement at her coffee table seemed less intimidating than the small table in her kitchen, and from the flicker of relief that crossed Peter's face as she passed him by, it seemed that he agreed with her.

Olivia took the straight backed chair at one end of the coffee table, setting her plate down in front of her, and let Peter have the adjacent sofa. He moved past her, eyeing the three cushions undecidedly before dropping down on the one in the middle. She found herself analyzing whether his choice of a neutral seating position, not too close or too far from her own, had been a random or deliberate decision on his part, and then wondered why she cared.

She shouldn't be caring.

Caring meant that she was aware of the circling around each other, aware of the probing feints and calculated decisions of mutual attraction, and was actively participating in it. As was he, if it had been a deliberate choice. She was doing it again.

"So…" Peter said, breaking the silence. "This looks really good." He took his fork and twirled it in the fettuccine expertly, and then shoveled it in mouth, chewing slowly. He nodded his head, giving her a look of appreciation. "Not bad. Not bad at all." he said when he swallowed it down. "I approve."

"My mother's recipe." Olivia stated, twirling her fork. "She taught me to make it when I was about ten years old, I think." She took a bite, closing her eyes for a moment at the taste. The pasta was one of the few good things her mother had taught her. For the rest… she had always looked to her father, her true father for a role model in most things.

"Well, I'd say you've mastered it." he said around another mouthful, licking red sauce from the edge of his lips.

They ate for a few minutes in silence, until Olivia realized she'd neglected to get them drinks. "Hey…what do you want to drink?" she asked, getting to her feet. "Red wine okay? I have some beer too."

Peter's eyes darted to hers warily, and after a moment he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "Uhh…you pick." he said tensely. "Either's fine."

Olivia hurried into the kitchen. After a moment of indecision, she grabbed two wine glasses from the cupboard, and then uncorked the wine bottle. She stared into the empty glasses, wondering if she was making a mistake. Introducing alcohol into the equation could be dangerous, and from the look Peter had given her when she'd suggested it, he knew it as well. She trusted him, but did she trust herself? After John…this was the very situation she'd been trying to avoid placing herself in.

She snatched up the glasses with one hand, and the wine bottle with the other, despite her misgivings.

It would be fine. It would take more than one bottle of wine to put her off her guard.

Peter looked up and gave her a grateful smile as she set the glass down in front of him and poured it three-quarters full. She poured her own and set the bottle down between them, and then returned to her seat.

"So, Peter…" Olivia said, taking a sip of her wine. "What is it you wanted to tell me about?" She took another sip, larger this time, and swallowed it down. She could already feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading through her limbs, taking the edge off.

Peter took a drink of his own before replying. "Walter told me a little story the other day." he began. "The night you saved my ass from the psycho that took the cylinder." One of his hands crept involuntarily up to his face, touching the now barely visible bruises around his nose.

Olivia grinned at his choice of words, and scooped up another bite of noodles. She nodded at him to go on as she washed it down.

"Well…let me start off by telling you a story that I've believed to be true, for pretty much my whole life, until the other day." He gulped down another bite and swallowed before continuing. "My parents had a lakehouse in upstate New York, and one time on Thanksgiving, Walter was driving me back from to the house from somewhere. I don't know from where because I don't really remember any of this, it's just what I was told happened."

"How old were you?" she interjected, intrigued to hear about his past. She knew precious little at that point, next to nothing really, and she was beginning to sense that whatever it was he was going to tell her, it was going to be interesting, and possibly important.

"I think I was around seven or eight." Peter answered, putting down his glass. "So anyways...it was snowing, blizzard like conditions, according to the story. Walter was rushing to get back, and he drives off an embankment, and rolls the car down onto the lake, which was frozen at the time."

"Oh my god…" Olivia said, imagining what happened next. "But you said this didn't happen?"

Peter shook his head. "This part of the story did happen." he said around another mouthful of food. "We were both knocked out from the impact and when Walter came to, a couple minutes later according to him, he tried to pull me out of the car, but the ice broke."

Olivia inhaled a sharp breath, "How were you able to survive the cold?" She didn't know where he was going with this story, but her trained mind cataloged any inconsistencies. It must have been frigid weather for the ice to have held the car's weight at all.

"Walter was able to pull me ashore." he said, picking up wine glass. "The end." He drained his cup in one gulp and set it back down.

"That's it?" she said, reaching for the bottle and refilling his cup and then her own.

Peter nodded. "That's it. That's the story I've been told of that night my whole life." he said, finishing off food and pushing the plate away from him, picking up his glass again. "Now let me tell you what really happened."

Olivia sat on the edge of her seat, leaning toward him anxiously. She found his story mesmerizing, or maybe it was the wine and the penetrating blue of eyes as he was telling it, either way she wanted to know more.

He took another sip, their eyes meeting over the rim of his glass. "Walter didn't save me." he said simply. "That's what he told me the other night."

"What do you mean he didn't save you?"

"Someone else did." Peter replied, his tone deadly serious. "Someone else saved me and him."

"Who?" Olivia said, her voice coming out as she leaned even closer to him.

"Guess." he said softly, watching her intently.

Guess? How could she possibly guess about something that had happened over twenty years… Her train of thought came crashing to a halt. There must be something significant about Walter telling Peter the truth on that particular day. She had just rescued Peter from the cemetery and from the man who'd been searching for the cylinder.

The cylinder.

Walter had taken the cylinder. He'd hidden it. Why had he hidden it? Someone had told him to, he'd all but admitted it, and that someone was…was…

_The Observer._

Olivia straightened in her chair, staring at him in wonder. "I don't believe it." she gasped. "Are you saying The Observer saved your life? And your father's life?"

Peter nodded. "I wouldn't have believed it either," he said grimly, "except that Walter mentioned that the man knew what he was going to say, before he'd said it. Just like what happened with me." He leaned back on the cushions, his gaze still intent on her.

Olivia rose from her seat, pacing the space in front of them, wine glass in hand, the rest of her food forgotten. "And Walter didn't know why he saved you?" she said, stopping and turning to him.

Peter leaned forward on his elbows. "Walter seemed to think that when he hid the cylinder, he was repaying a debt that went back to that night." he said. "It sounds crazy, I know, but when has any of this not?"

She let out a huff at that, and resumed her pacing on front of the coffee table, trying to wrap her head around the fact that the Bishops seemed to be at the center of the mystery surrounding the Observer. It was simply astounding. What were the odds of them all coming together as they had? Were they all being manipulated in some way? How was that even possible? No one could have predicted the way events had unfolded.

"Peter..." Olivia began uncertainly, "I...I think we should probably keep this to ourselves, for the time being at least." She paused, taking another sip before proceeding. "Broyles...I'm not sure how he would react to hearing it."

Peter pushed off the couch, picking up his empty plate. "It's funny," he said with a grin, moving toward the door to her kitchen. "I was gonna say the same thing."

She grabbed her own half-eaten plate and followed after him, "Of course, if it ever becomes directly relevant to a case again," she said as they passed through the doorway into the kitchen. "I will have to tell him. You know that right?"

Keeping information from her boss was generally not good practice, but she thought that in this particular case, something that happened twenty yards ago, while extremely interesting, was just a good story...until they knew more, at least. Considering Walter's poor memory and whimsical nature, that information would not be coming from him any time soon.

"I know how it is." he said seriously, glancing back at her as he crossed the kitchen floor. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

Peter put his plate down in the sink and turned back to her, leaning against the edge of the counter. She was very aware of brushing up against him as she dropped her plate down on top of his in the sink. He seemed to be aware of her too, and she saw a smoldering hunger in his eyes when he glanced down at her, which he suppressed almost immediately, but she caught a glimpse of nonetheless before he turned away from her.

The air abruptly became charged, like static electricity, the fine hairs on her arms standing on end from the sudden tension. She became aware of everything then, her breath coming out in a silent pant, a faint leathery male smell that must be Peter, and a thick tension between herself and him, which was quickly becoming suffocating. Her eyes froze on a discolored spot on the bottom of her sink, feeling every particle separating them. She felt drowsy all of a sudden, her vision thinning to a slit as her eyelids began to droop closed from the intensity of her indecision.

"'Livia, I...I should go." Peter said abruptly in hoarse voice, stepping away from her and cutting through the moment with razor-like precision.

Olivia's breath left her in a rush, as the viselike grip holding her in place dissipated into a memory. "Oh...right." she said quickly, swinging her head in his direction as he moved toward the doorway.

"Walter...you know he shouldn't be left alone for too long." he said, grabbing the white trim around the doorway and looking at her sideways. "No telling what kind disaster could ensue." He started to move again then stopped. "Thanks for the food. I'll have to repay you someday...if I ever get a real kitchen."

"Sure..." she said, feeling a smile trying to form. "Someday."

Their eyes met again for the barest of instants, and then he nodded and hurried toward the front of her apartment. She heard the door open and then close, and then the most silent silence she'd ever heard.

Olivia leaned back against the counter in her kitchen, and rubbed at her face with both hands, then slid them back to her ponytail, gripping it, and letting them rest there for a few moments as she replayed the last few moments in her head.

Peter Bishop was dangerous, far, far more dangerous than she'd given him credit. She'd been wrong, one bottle of wine was indeed more than enough to put her off her guard, with him at least, although oddly enough she didn't feel drunk, just slightly buzzed. It was a mistake she couldn't afford to make again any time soon. It was not the first time she'd promised herself something similar, and she wondered if an intersection between herself and Peter was as inevitable as it seemed to be.

Would that be so bad?

Maybe it would be best to just get it over with. Then she could move on, on so could he once he saw that there was nothing special about her, that he could certainly do better than an emotionally repressed FBI agent, and she wasn't worth the price of admission.

Except that she'd had similar thoughts with John, and look where that had left her. With him dead, and part of his mind melded with her own, possibly permanently. No, she would maintain the status quo, and fend off Peter Bishop as best she could, rather than court another disastrous relationship.

Another thought occurred to her as she began to clean up the mess left behind from their impromptu dinner, completely unrelated to Peter and the..._thing _between them. With the Meegar case coming right on the heels of Peter's abduction and the departure of the cylinder, it had slipped her mind completely that she had intended to pay a visit to the cafe The Observer had been seen leaving the day of the crane collapse.

Despite their encounter, there was no hesitation as she reached for her phone.

* * *

**Peter's** fingers gripped the steering wheel of the Vista Cruiser like a vice, the whites of his knuckles visible even in the dim light of the interior. He had yet to pull the wagon out of its spot down the street from Olivia's apartment, letting his head clear before drove the short distance back to Cambridge.

And to think, he had been doing so well, and had nothing but good intentions in mind when he'd called her.

_Damn yoga pants! The fucking things should be illegal!_

Although he'd hadn't been able to completely set aside his attraction to the green-eyed agent, for the last few weeks he had managed to distance himself from it, pushing it far in the back of his mind and letting it sit there, a vague hope set aside for some indeterminate time in the future. All that had gone out the window the moment she had answered her door. It had all come rushing back ten-fold at the sight of the tight black pants. She'd been wearing the same outfit he had seen in her duffel bag the other day.

Once he had gotten over the shock of her offer for dinner, everything gone pretty smoothly though, right up to that moment in her kitchen prior to his leaving...or his fleeing, in truth.

She had felt something then, Peter was sure of it. There had been hints before, vague looks, but nothing concrete to make him think he ever had the slightest chance with her. Nothing remotely like what happened. Had she been drunk? He couldn't believe that two glasses of wine could bring about such a change in her but...he couldn't take any chances, which was why he'd left so abruptly.

So basically he was back where he started. Exactly nowhere.

He shook his in amusement at his own pathetic situation, and pushed in the brake to start the car. He turned the ignition, pumping the gas pedal to get some fuel moving through engine. The Cruiser was an old bitch, and finicky, in even the slightest of cold weather. As the engine turned over, his cell phone rang and he answered at once, expecting it to be Walter.

"Hello?"

"Peter?" a female voice said. "It's me."

"Olivia?" Peter said, utterly surprised that it was her. He twisted around in his seat, looking back toward her apartment. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. No problems." she replied in a businesslike tone. "I just wanted see if you were interested in doing a little field work. Your story reminded me that I needed to check out a cafe The Observer was seen at prior to the crane collapse. You wanna come?"

"Right now?" Peter said, checking the time on his phone's display. Surely it was too late for that.

"Uh...no." Olivia replied, sounding amused. "It's nearly eleven o'clock. I mean tomorrow."

"Of course. I knew that." he chuckled. "Don't mind me, I'm just a little drunk." he bantered.

"Are you?" she said, sounding concerned. "Peter, you shouldn't be driving if you-"

"Olivia," he cut in with a laugh. "Just kidding, I'm fine. It takes a little more than two glasses of wine for driving to be a problem." He paused, then added, "Why, are you?"

She didn't respond at once, and he heard the thudding of his heart in the silence.

"No." she replied faintly after a moment. "Not really."

Peter let out the breath he'd been holding unaware. "Okay..." he said, swallowing. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Yeah." Olivia said, sounding again like herself. "I'll pick you up at the lab...say eight o'clock?"

"Eight?" he said with wince. "Shit, I need to get Walter in bed then."

"Have fun with that." she said. He could hear her grin through the phone.

"Oh, it's a whole lotta fun, let me assure you." Peter laughed, switching the phone to his other ear and starting the car. "Goodnight, Olivia."

"Goodnight, Peter. See ya tomorrow."

.

"Walter!" Peter said, standing in the doorway to their hotel room. "What the hell are you doing?" He stared in dismay at his father's form, hunched over a pile of plates and bowls on their small table in one corner of the room.

His father looked up, eyebrows raised inquiringly. "Oh...hello, son!" he said cheerfully. "Ice cream?" He offered Peter a spoonful of a mostly tan substance mottled with dark brown and light red chunks of something he couldn't make out.

"No, Walter." he said, moving into the room. "I don't want any ice cream." He took off his coat and threw it over the back of his couch, moved over the table. "What are you doing?" he said, repeating his earlier question.

"I wanted some ice cream." he said, standing up straight, his chin up unremorsefully. "Neapolitan...and-"

"And room service doesn't have any neapolitan." Peter interrupted. He shook his head at the mess on the table. "So you decided to make your own. Perfect." His gaze narrowed on one dish in particular, filled to the brim with the crown of his creation. "Is that our ice bucket?"

"Yes...yes," Walter said, nodding his head vigorously. "It was the perfect containment vessel for my attempt at layering the-"

Peter held his hands up to forestall him. "That's great Walter." he said, "Let's just get this cleaned up. We gotta get up go into the lab tomorrow morning."

"Oh? Is it Sunday already?" Walter asked, gesturing with his outstretched spoon, flinging ice cream in all directions. "I had no idea." He dropped the spoon on the table with a wet splat and then grinned down at his handiwork. "And here I've been thinking it was Saturday all day."

Closing his eyes, Peter ground his teeth in frustration. "Walter...it is... You know what? Nevermind." he said, grabbing a large bowl and the ice bucket of the table. He deposited them on the room service tray and then threw the rest of his father's ice cream experiment on as best he could. "Go brush your teeth." he said, picking up the sticky tray. "I'll be right back."

After setting the tray outside the door in the hallway, he wiped the table down with a wet towel along with the walls nearby as well. As he was finishing up, Walter emerged from the bathroom, brushing his teeth with enthusiasm.

Peter started to move past him, but a flash of red in Walter's oscillating hand caught his eye. "Walter, is that my toothbrush?"

"Eh?" Walter's hand stopped its back and forth motion, and he glanced down at the toothbrush. "Oh! Red isn't for Robert?"

"Robert?" Peter grinned despite his earlier irritation, and Walter's commandeering of his toothbrush. "As in Robert Bishop? No. In this case, red is for Peter."

His father frowned, "Huh? What kind of a mnemonic system is that, son?" he said disapprovingly. "Completely illogical, by any standards that I can think of."

"Just hurry it up, would you" he said, unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled it off and threw it on the growing pile in the basket they shared between them against the wall near the door. "Olivia's expecting us to be at the lab early." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted mentioning Olivia's name.

Walter paused on his way back to the bathroom, looking over his shoulder at him slyly. "Ahh...have you been spending time with Agent Dunham, then?"

"She called me, Walter." Peter said, "On my phone." He pulled his phone out oh his pocket, holding it up for display, and then placed it on the coffee table, along with his wallet. "It's how people communicate in the twenty-first century." Admitting that he'd just been in Olivia's apartment was absolutely out of the question. His father had been laying off his innuendos lately, and he wasn't looking to start that up again any time soon, if he could avoid it.

"I see...and where you earlier?" Walter questioned, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "I expected you back here much sooner, Peter."

"I got some dinner, had a few drinks." he said, slipping out of his shoes. "Unlike you, I can't be cooped up in this room night after night with just room service for company."

"And did you meet anyone?"

"No, Walter I didn't meet anyone." Peter said, crossing over to him. "But even if I did, I don't think I'd tell you about it."

"So you did meet someone." Walter said, stroking his chin.

"No, I didn't. I...let's just drop it, okay?" he said, holding his hand out. "Now hand over the toothbrush."

.

When Olivia met them at the lab the following morning, she made no mention of their unplanned get-together the night before. Peter had not expected her too, and she met his expectations fully.

"You ready?" she asked coming out of her office, carrying her jacket over her arm not long after him and his father arrived the next morning. "I've already spoken to the cafe manager, and they're expecting us in a few hours."

"Ready when you are, boss." Peter said, slipping the jacket he'd just taken off moments before, back over his shoulders.

Olivia lips curled slightly, as she pulled her coat and grabbed her keys off the lab table near the steps up to the exit. She was in her full Agent regalia, the typical dark suit coat and pants, though a bright blue shirt, open at the collar, was the only exception to the rule of her usual dark attire. He caught a whiff of lavender from her still damp hair, free from the ponytail she'd had it in the night before, as she moved past him toward the widowed door at the top of the steps.

"Where are you two off to this fine morning?" Walter said from Gene's stall, where he was rubbing the milk cow's flank down with a short-bristled brush.

"We're doing a followup on one of our prior cases, Walter." Olivia said, stopping at the top of the steps. "Agent Farnsworth should be here soon to keep you some company today, okay?"

"Asteroid?" he said, pausing mid-stroke. "That will be delightful!" He looked uncertainly in Peter's direction. "Do you think she'll willing to assist me in making some neapolitan while you're gone?"

Peter stopped halfway up the steps, "Maybe, Walter." he said, looking down on him in the stall. "Though, it would probably help if you actually called _Astrid _by her name when you ask her."

Olivia cocked an eyebrow at him as he turned from his father and followed her out into the hallway outside the lab. "Neapolitan?" she said, glancing back at him as they climbed the steps to the main floor of the Kresge Building. "What was that about?" she asked, waiting for him at the top of the stairs.

"Apparently, our hotel doesn't stock neapolitan ice cream." he said, walking by her side toward the double doors out of the building. "Just chocolate and vanilla. So Walter took it upon himself to make the strawberry." He pushed one of the doors open and held it back with one arm for Olivia.

She moved past him, giving him a tiny smile. Peter let the door swing shut behind him and hurried after her.

"So anyways, that was the disaster I came back to." he said, resuming his place at her side as they walked to her truck. "And how was your night?" He said it without really thinking, and wished the words back soon as they were out of his mouth.

Olivia's eyes darted towards his for a micro-second, before returning to the ground in front of her. She made no immediate reply, and Peter found the intervening silence the most awkward length of time he'd ever spent with her. He was about to apologize for it all, for essentially inviting himself into her apartment, and then putting her in an uncomfortable situation, when she stopped his tongue with a look.

"It was kinda nice." she said finally, shrugging her shoulders.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." she said as they reached her parking spot. Their eyes met over the hood. "I usually eat alone."

Peter realized he'd been holding his breath, and let it out a rush. "Me too."

The corner of Olivia's mouth quirked upwards. "Walter doesn't count?"

"As company?" Peter snickered. "No. Not at all."

Olivia shook her head, grinning minutely. "C'mon. Let's go." she said, and pulled open her door.

.

The cafe in Brooklyn in which The Observer had been seen leaving was a small, corner restaurant on the ground floor of the building next door to the structure that had been crushed by the tower crane when it collapsed upon the arrival of the cylinder.

Peter stared up at the gaping hole in the upper half of the building. The damage was extensive, and he thought it likely that demolishing the building and starting over was likely to be cheaper than attempting to repair it. Judging by the company logos on the sides of the work trucks and heavy equipment parked inside the fenced off area surrounding the building, it seemed that someone else had come the same conclusion.

"You know, I'm amazed that only three people were killed when that thing collapsed." Peter said, shading his eyes from the midday sun as he looked upward.

Olivia glanced up at the brick building, "We were lucky." she said as they walked toward the cafe. "Most of the residents were at work. If the cylinder had shown up the weekend, the casualties would have been much worse."

She reached for the glass door of the entrance before he could, and held it open, allowing him first entry. Peter grinned at her raised eyebrows and terse smile as he moved through the doorway past her and into the restaurant. Her subtle exhibit of self-reliance was unnecessary, though true to form. In his book, her independence from him or from anyone else for that matter, was already a given, like the changing of the seasons or the Bruins choking come playoff time.

The cafe, which was quaintly named _The East River Coffee Shop_, was more of a diner than a coffee house, Peter noted as he stepped inside, with booth seating up against the windows of both exterior walls. There was a bar parallel to restaurants longer dimension, complete with a row of stools on swivels, their cushions upholstered in cracked vinyl, a dull gray in color, and a row of Tiffany pendant light fixtures centered over the countertop.

The clientele seemed to be mostly construction workers from the site next door; men in dusty looking clothes, all of whom were wearing heavy steel-toed leather work boots, and most of which were caked thick with mud or clay. One of the busboys was busy with a mop and bucket cleaning up the mess left behind by a recent vacancy.

The men's eyes focused on Olivia as she followed him inside, and Peter felt his hackles rise, though he knew it to be only a normal male reaction, one which he himself was guilty of quite frequently. Olivia seemed completely oblivious to the attention as she moved past him toward the counter, and he thought it best to ignore it as well.

She approached a middle-aged woman in a white blouse behind the counter, with dark, curly hair that sort of reminded him of Astrid's, though not quite as large as the junior agent's mop. The woman looked up from a thick binder, stuffed full of papers Olivia stepped in front of her.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, raising her eyebrows.

Olivia pulled out her ID, holding it before the woman. "Special Agent Olivia Dunham, FBI." she said in her agent voice. "I called and spoke to the manager earlier this morning?"

"That was me." the woman said, glancing uneasily between them. "What exactly are you here for? You didn't say on the phone."

"I'm sorry, I'm not at liberty to discuss that with you." Olivia said, slipping her ID back in her pocket. She pulled out a photograph and slid it across the countertop toward the woman. "We're looking for this man. He was seen leaving this restaurant recently."

The woman picked up the picture, and her eyes widened with recognition almost at once. "Oh yeah...I remember this guy!" she said excitedly, her Brooklyn accent coming to the fore. "He was real creepy, like serial killer creepy. He was here right before that damn crane collapsed." She wiped a hand across her brow. "That was crazy, it was like an earthquake! Either of you ever felt an earthquake before? We don't get earthquakes in New York. I bet it feels just like-"

"So you spoke to him?" Olivia asked, cutting her off.

The woman shook her head. "No, not me, thank God. That was Lisa." She slid the photo back across the counter to Olivia.

"Is Lisa here today?" Olivia said quickly, and Peter sensed her excitement at the prospect at questioning someone who had spoken to The Observer.

"Yeah, she's here." the woman said. "She's in the back. You want me to get her?"

"Please do." Olivia said.

The manager moved through a pair of double doors, into the kitchen. "Lisa! The FBI..." she said as the door swing shut behind her.

Olivia glanced back at him. "What do you think?"

Peter grunted, "I think the chance to speak with someone who's spoken to Baldy that's not insane, was well worth the drive from Boston."

"Haven't you spoken to him, Peter?" she said dryly, a hint of amusement on her lips.

"Hah. Touche, Dunham." he smirked. "Touche."

The double doors swung open, and the manager emerged, followed closely by a pretty young woman, who looked to be her low twenties by his estimation. She had light brown hair, curly, and pulled back in a messy ponytail, completely unlike the cleaner version Olivia favored.

"Here she is." the manager said, pulling the young woman in front of her.

Olivia nodded at the newcomer. "Hi, there, Lisa." she said. "I'm Olivia Dunham, with the FBI, and this is Peter Bishop." She inclined her head in his direction.

"Uh, hi..." the woman said nervously, looking like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" Olivia said, smiling reassuringly at nervous woman.

"You're not in any trouble, I promise." Peter added, showing his teeth. "It's just about one your recent customers."

"Oh...okay?" she replied uncertainly.

Olivia looked to the older woman. "Is there somewhere where we can talk to her in private?" she asked, looking around the interior of the restaurant.

"What you see is what you get." the woman replied with a shrug. "Sorry."

Peter saw a booth back in one corner, relatively distant from any other customers. "Over there should be fine." he said, pointing toward the unoccupied table.

Olivia nodded, and turned the young waitress. "Is that okay with you?"

"Sure," Lisa nodded, sounding a little more confident. "Yeah...Okay."

Peter led them over to the vacant booth, and then slid in next to the window. The booth fairly narrow, and he was conscious of Olivia's thigh resting against his after she sat down next to him. Lisa took the seat opposite them, rubbing her fingers together nervously.

Olivia produced the picture of that she'd shown the manager. "Lisa, do you remember serving this man?" she said, holding the picture up for her to see.

Lisa's eyes widened at once, just like her boss's had. She nodded, her chin bobbing rapidly with excitement. "Oh my gosh!" she squeaked. "It's him! Who is he? He was _really_ weird!"

Peter exchanged glances with Olivia, who put the picture down on the table, face up.

"So you remember speaking to him then?" she asked, tapping the picture with a slender finger. "What can you tell us about him?"

The waitress's shook her head, letting out puff of air. "He was weird!" she began, and started picking up steam at once, the words rolling out of her mouth faster and faster. "He ordered roast beef sandwich, and he wanted it raw! And then he wanted...like eleven fresh jalapenos on the side, and it had to be eleven, not ten or thirteen, and then he poured like a whole bottle of pepper on his sandwich, and then-"

Peter blinked under the young woman's onslaught. "Whoa, Lisa." he said, reaching out and touching her hand to get her attention. "Why don't you just start at the beginning." He pulled his hand back, and noticed Olivia watching him with narrowed eyes.

Lisa nodded, "Sorry," she said apologetically. "I kinda get carried away sometimes."

"It's understandable." Olivia sympathized, turning back to her. "What was the first thing he did?"

"Well..." she started again, visibly forcing herself to speak at a more moderate pace. "He came in and sat down. He was in my section so, I went over to take his order...I remember his order because it was really strange, like I said, raw roast beef sandwich with eleven jalapenos on the side." She shook her head. "I mean...who orders that? And when he began to eat, that was when Nancy and I really started paying attention to him."

"What did he do?" Peter asked, finding her tale fascinating.

"Only pour an entire shaker of pepper on the roast beef, then like half a bottle of Tobasco sauce, and then all the jalapenos on top of that." Lisa replied, her face twisted with disgust. "When he finally started to eat, he inhaled it. Ate the whole sandwich in...maybe a minute."

Even Olivia's stoic demeanor was tested by picture the young woman painted. "Oh my..." she said with a grimace, and looked at in his direction again.

Peter shrugged. It sounded crazy. He liked spicy food as much as anyone, but that sounded totally inedible. "Aside from attempting to eat his way to the top of the scoville scale, did he do anything else?"

Lisa giggled, covering her mouth, her cheeks turning red. "Sorry." she said to Olivia, who shrugged the apology aside stiffly. "He was writing in some journal after he ate. In some other language."

"Did you recognize the language?" Olivia asked, leaning toward the young woman.

"No...I thought it might be Asian, at first." she said, "but he he told me it wasn't. He was writing from right to left, instead of left to right though, if that helps at all."

"It could." Olivia said diplomatically. "Did he do anything else? Anything else at all out of the ordinary?"

Lisa thought for a moment, then grew excited again. "Oh...I nearly forgot!" she said, bouncing in her seat. "He had some kind of binoculars. We watched him look out the window a few times with them."

"What booth was he sitting in?" Olivia said, looking over the waitress's shoulder.

She twisted in her seat, pointing to one of the tables near the cash register. "That one." Lisa said. "Right next the drawers there."

Olivia was silent for a moment, staring the table indicated.

"Lisa..." Peter said, when Olivia didn't continue. "What was it like to talk to him?" he asked vaguely.

"What was it like to talk to him?" she said, frowning at the question. "I dunno...kinda like talking to a robot, maybe. He talked like one at least. Real slow and deliberate like."

Olivia caught his attention then, indicating she was ready to go with a tilt of her head. Peter nodded once, and she grabbed the photo off the table and slid out of the seat, with him following after.

"Thank you, Lisa." Olivia said, looking down at her. "You've been a big help." She pulled a card from her pocket and set it on the table in front of her. "If you remember anything else, anything at all, please don't hesitate to give me a call."

Lisa smiled and looked up at them. "No problem." She picked up that card, examining it, then looked up at him as if waiting for his card as well.

Peter stuck his hands in his pockets and left them there. He had no cards for her. After giving the young waitress an amicable smile, he moved toward the booth The Observer had been sitting in. Olivia joined him there a moment later. The booth was unoccupied, and they bent over the table together, looking out the window in silence.

"What are you thinking?" he said after a moment, looking out at the remnants of the broken crane, directly across from the window.

Olivia straightened, shaking her head. "Let's get back to the car." she said, then moved toward the exit.

.

Back in her green suv, they sat in silence, staring at the construction site. The yellow skeleton of the crane was almost completely removed from the site, and the damaged building looked it would be gone sooner than later.

"So..." Olivia said suddenly, twisting toward him in her seat. "The Observer goes to lunch, he orders his bizarre food, and then watches the construction site, all mere minutes before the cylinder arrives, causing the crane to collapse."

"That sounds about right." Peter said, meeting her eyes. "The only question is, how did he know when to be there?"

Olivia pursed her lips. "We don't have enough information." she said, "And I don't think your friend in there has anything else to tell us."

"My friend?" Peter chuckled. "Who? That girl? She looked like she was about twenty. Not really my type."

"Hmmh." Olivia grunted, and turned the ignition. "Let's get some food, and then head back."

"Now you're talking some sense." Peter said with a grin, pulling his seatbelt on. "I know of a good Indian place on the way."

Olivia shook her head. "Not this time, Bishop." she said. "It's my pick."

.

.

.

.

.

.

**So that's a little sliver of time in between Power Hungry and The Cure. I recognize that it might be too soon for an encounter like that between P/O in her apartment, but hey, I really wanted him to tell her Walter's story, and one thing kind of led to another. I hope no one minds.**

**Let me know what you think! Thanks as always for reading!**


	41. Chapter 40 - 1x06 The Cure

**Chapter 40**

.

**-Jacksonville, Florida **_**1986**_

**Olivia Dunham's** eight-and-half year old heart was hammering in her chest as she peeked through the narrow gap between the edge of the door and the frame. It was hard to make out much through the crack, but she had an unblemished view of the doorway to the family room at the other end of the hall, and that was all she cared about. It was Sunday, and the Dolphins game was on television, a combination she had come to dread since Mom had introduced their stepfather into their lives.

"Livvie!" came a small voice from behind her. Little hands grabbed futilely at the back of her t-shirt, trying to pull Olivia from the space in front of the door. "Lemme out!"

"Shhhh! You want him to hear you?" Olivia said, turning to her little sister, and holding a finger up to her lips. "Rach! You have to be quiet, please be quiet, baby girl." she whispered hoarsely, using her mother's nickname for her as she bent down in front of the little girl.

"But I want Mommy..." the little girl replied, her lower lip sticking out in a pout. "Where's Mommy, Livvie?"

"She's at the store, Rach, I think." Olivia said absently, and turned back to the crack in the door.

Her mother was often out running errands on Sunday, usually coinciding with the game and taking her and Rachel along with her. But for some reason she he hadn't taken them this time, leaving Olivia and her sister alone with Him, for the first time in a long while. It was not a situation to be taken lightly. Bad things had happened before when they were alone with Him. Especially when he was drinking his beer, which he always did for the game.

Olivia had tried the beer once, risking his wrath to sneak one from the refrigerator while he was in the shower one morning. She'd taken it to see what it tasted like, thinking that it must be really good to make him want to drink so much of it. With her hands trembling from the terror of possible discovery, she'd rushed out in the backyard, up against the wall of the house below the bathroom window and opened it. It had not been good, in fact, her first taste of it had gagged her, nearly causing to her puke her guts up. After she'd gotten over her initial reaction to the taste though, she had drank the whole can, determined to find out if the amber liquid was the source of his rage. Unfortunately, all she'd gotten out of it was a brief spell of dizziness, and then a headache which had left her curled up on her bed. She had not tried it again.

Putting one eye up to the crack, she checked the hall again. She could see the light from the television flickering against the wall opposite the doorway. The tugging at the tail of her shirt started up again, and she brushed her sister's hand away as her stepfather's angry voice rang out again in the other room.

"_Son of bitch! Fucking Marino! Throw the goddamn ball!"_

"Why daddy so mad, Livvie?" Rachel asked from behind her.

Gritting her teeth at her little sister's use of that name, she didn't answer as heavy footsteps suddenly echoed throughout the house. She reached back with one hand for Rachel's head, pulling her forward into her back, stifling any further attempts by her to speak. Her stepfather came into sight, an empty beer bottle dangling from his fingers. A moment later he moved out of her view, heading toward the kitchen, his angry stomp sending tremors to their small home's floorboards. There came a crash of glass, and then the refrigerator door opening and closing. The footsteps returned and soon he was back in her line of sight, but instead of continuing into the family room, he stopped, his dark eyes swiveling toward the door to the bedroom she shared with her sister.

Olivia inhaled a sharp breath, her eyes going wide. She twisted around, kneeling down in front of the struggling Rachel. "Rachie!" she hissed, turning her sister around by shoulders. "We're gonna play some hide and seek! Your turn to be under the bed! Go!" She propelled her toward the space between the edge of the bed and the wall with a steady pressure at her back.

Rachel let out a disgruntled squawk, "But Livvie! I wanna hide in the closet!"

"Next time, baby girl." she said, looking back at the door, listening for the thud of her stepfather's boots moving again.

The clomping sounded again, and the heavy footsteps faded away and then stopped as he moved back into the family room, where his football game would keep him occupied if she were lucky. If they were both lucky. He hadn't hit her sister yet as far Olivia knew, but as she got bigger, she could see the flares of annoyance when Rachel would ask him her questions, of which she had many.

"Livvie!" Rachel's muffled voice came from under the bed, "...You have to count, silly!"

Olivia leaned back against the wall next to the door, her eyes closed as relief flooded through her. Though it had been several months since the last time he'd hit her, she would not let up her guard, ever, no matter what her mother said. He hadn't changed. Her mother didn't see the fury that was still in his eyes because she was too busy keeping her head down, as much good as it did her. His sudden and inexplicable cessation from the beatings he used to hand out to her on a regular basis had left Olivia confused and anxious, waiting for the other shoe to drop. If anything, he seemed to hate her more now than ever, despite his strange reluctance to lay a hand on her. She suspected it hadn't stopped him from punishing her mother for it, though, from the bruises she went through painstaking lengths to hide with her makeup. Olivia had never seen him hit her, but she had walked in on her more than once in front of the mirror, and her mother just couldn't seem to stop slipping in the shower. What a bunch of crapola.

"Livvie! Count!" Rachel said again, sticking her head out from under the edge of the green comforter.

Pushing off the wall, Olivia moved toward the foot of the bed, "One, two, three, four-" she began, looking at the row of books on the shelf hanging on the wall next her dresser. Her eyes fell on one in particular and she pulled it off the shelf.

"Hey! I'm three!"

"Yes, you are," she said, smiling at her sister's innocence. "Now you have to be quiet, or I'll know where you're hiding."

"Oh, yeah." came the reply and then silence.

Through the thin walls she could hear the muffled voices of the television announcers, their voices rising in a crescendo, and then dropping in disappointment. Her stepfather let out a string of curses she couldn't quite make out, and she paused, listening for more footsteps. When none where forthcoming, her eyes dropped to the book in her hand, taking in the distinctive bluish hue of its cover, and the equinely outline of a constellation highlighted among the stars far above the city below.

_Winter's Tale._

Olivia realized it was the book she'd been reading the last time he'd beaten her, and that she'd never finished it. Why hadn't she finished it? That wasn't like her at all. Turning it over in her hand, she saw that the corner of a page was turned down about three-quarters of the way through the book. She flipped to it, scanning down the words on the page, trying to place where in the story it was...and found that she...couldn't. None of it was familiar, like she'd never even read the book before, and yet she knew that she had at least read up to the dog-eared page. It felt like the memory was just gone from her head. Could memories just disappear? She didn't know, but according to her mother, her grandma had forgotten her own daughter before she died when Olivia was around Rachel's age, so maybe it was possible.

She reread the page again, and one of the character names jumped out at her off the pages. _Peter Lake_. Peter. Why did the name stand out to her, remind her of someone, and of snow of all things? Olivia was sure she didn't know anyone by that name, and she'd never even seen snow in real life. And yet she couldn't stop staring at the letters forming the name. Peter. Peter.

_You've gotta try something, right?_ A small voice said, a boy's voice, sounding in her head like a memory of a memory.

Olivia gasped as a blinding headache suddenly ripped from her forehead across the top of her head and down the back of her skull, stretching her eyes wide open and wiping away any thoughts of someone named Peter. Dropping the book, she grabbed at her head with both hands, as tears formed from the painful intrusion. After a moment, the pain subsided and she bit back a sob at the sound of her sister's voice.

"Why you not looking for me, Livvie?" Rachel said, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Her brown eyes were full of curiosity at her older sister's strange behavior.

Olivia started, looking down at her sister. How long had she been staring at that page? She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes, before they had a chance to run down her cheeks. Crying in front of Rachel was a sure way to reduce her to tears, she had learned, and that would be a very bad thing on this day in particular. He would not tolerate interruption; she'd learned that, too.

"Sorry, Rach." she replied with a sniffle, and bent down to retrieve the book off the floor. "I got distracted by this book." she said, holding it up for her to see.

"What's distracted?" Rachel said, reaching out for the book in her hand.

Olivia shook her head and let her take the heavy volume from her hands, making sure she didn't drop it on the floor in the process. Rachel's eyes grew large as she examined it closely.

"Ohh, a horsey!" she said, her voice rising with excitement. "Is it a book about horses, Livvie?"

"I don't think so, Rach." Olivia said, taking the book back from her. "I'm not sure what it's about...I...I forgot."

"Really?" she said. "Mommy say you don't forget."

Normally Olivia would agree, but in this case she had. "I guess I do." she said, putting the book back on her shelf. "What do you want to do now?"

"I'm hungry Livvie," Rachel said, looking toward the door. "Time for snack?"

Olivia glanced at her alarm clock. "Rach, it's too close to dinner, can't you wait for Mom to get home?" The football game wouldn't be over yet, and venturing out to the kitchen was asking for trouble.

"But I'm hungry, Livvie!" she said again in trembly voice, clenching her little fists, her lower lip protruding.

"Rach..." Olivia began, then stopped, knowing there was no reasoning with her. When she made her mind up about something, there no was no stopping her. A Dunham trait, her mother had told her more than once. Which implied it was from her father, her real father. Not the man in her family room. "Okay, okay..." she said, kneeling before her. "Now what do you want?"

"Nutty Bar?" Rachel said hopefully, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"All right. I'll get you a Nutty Bar." Olivia said, and looked back at the door. "But you have to promise stay in here while I go get it, okay?"

"I promise, Livvie."

Olivia grabbed her sister under her arms and dropped her down on the bed with a bounce that made her giggle. She reached for another book off her shelf and placed it down in front of her. "Here, this one is about horses. You can look at it while you wait for me."

Rachel didn't respond as she opened the book and began flipping through the pages, already engrossed. Olivia watched her for a moment, then turned toward the door, swallowing as the thumping in her chest intensified with each step toward the hallway.

Olivia pulled open the door and slipped out of her room, closing it all the way behind her and twisting the knob all the way to one side so it wouldn't make the distinctive click of a closing door. She turned the knob slowly back to the neutral position and then began to slowly creep down the hallway toward the doorway to the kitchen. The soft soles of her sneakers were quiet on the hardwood floor as she tried to make herself into a ghost, leaving no evidence of her passing. She passed the bathroom on her right, and then the row of family photos, of which only one remained showing her with her true father. It was the only one which had been hung up again after their move away from the base several weeks ago. Her stepfather's doing, she suspected, as when she'd asked what happened to them, he'd told her that they must have been lost in the move. His eyes had told her a different story though, along with the warning that no further with questions would be tolerated all too clear in them. Since the move, she'd noticed that the burning anger was on display more often, as if the proximity of the base had been holding him back, and with the miles separating them now, he was reverting to his true nature. It scared the hell out of her.

Glancing up at her father's kind eyes, she paused, trying to remember the circumstances of the picture, but it wouldn't come to her, she'd been younger than Rachel was now when it had been taken. Little Olivia was sitting on his lap, reaching up and trying to tug at his ear lobe, while he pretended to try and fend her off. He was in his green army uniform, the one with the medals, and she was wearing a white sun dress, of the sort her mother still tried to get her to wear, much to Olivia's horror. They looked immensely happy, and she wondered what that felt like, to not live in fear. It wasn't the first time she'd envied the girl in the photo.

Turning from the picture frame, Olivia resumed her slow and steady pace, and approached the opening into the family room on her left, the roar of the crowd and the play-by-play man's voice getting louder as she moved to the edge of the doorway. Inching forward, she peered around the corner with one eye and her stepfather slowly slid into view.

He was seated in his brown recliner, his dark hair just visible over the back of the the corduroy cushion, facing the television. On the end table next to the recliner, she counted at least eight beer bottles standing upright on its banged up surface, next to his ashtray, stuffed full to the brim with butts. The game was still on, and from the score, it looked like the Dolphins were getting creamed by the Patriots, who had just scored another touchdown. She waited for some kind of outburst from him at this unfortunate development, but there was nothing, no reaction at all.

Olivia stayed perfectly still, running her eye over him, looking for any sign of movement. His left arm was dangling over the side of the chair, and on the floor next to his limp fingers was another beer bottle, tipped on its side, with a pool of beer spreading out from its open neck onto the hardwood floor.

_Maybe he's dead_, she said to herself, feeling a spark of hope at the prospect, which should have horrified her, wishing another person was dead, but it didn't. He had blackened her eye once upon a time for doing much the same thing. A cup of milk it had been, and all her mother had to say was that she should try to be more careful. She hated them both, him for being him, and her mother for not stopping him, and replacing her father with a monster.

There came a snort from the recliner, and then a wheezing cough, sending icy spikes of terror shooting down her spine at each of his hacks. She held her breath, ready to flee at the slightest sign of him waking up. His head shifted, then lolled to the side and she heard a gentle snoring from inside the room. He was still asleep.

Olivia hurried past the family room and into the kitchen, moving toward the white bi-fold doors of the pantry. She pulled open only the right-side door, the left had squeaky hinge that would let out a horrific squeal when it was opened. The Nutty Bars were on the second shelf, their thin box tucked in between a box of Cheez-Its and a half-eaten bag of tortilla chips. She pulled out one of the plastic packages, the thin plastic crinkling as she shoved it the front pocket of her shorts. Olivia started to push the door closed, then hesitated, and reached back in for another package of the chocolate and peanut butter wafer bars, feeling her own stomach start to growl.

After folding the pantry door carefully back into place, she turned and headed back toward the hallway, keeping her footsteps as light as possible as she approached the doorway to the family room. She was just starting to peek around the corner when her stepfather stepped out in front of her. Olivia's mouth dropped open, and she shrank back from his red-rimmed gaze as stark terror gripped her by the scruff of her neck, and paralyzed her from head to toe.

"What the hell are you sneakin' around out here for, Olivia?" he demanded roughly, advancing toward her.

"I...I wanted a...a glass of water." She stammered the first thing that popped in to her head, the dread coursing through her veins making it difficult to think clearly.

"A drink, huh?" he said, and then grabbed her right wrist in an iron grip before she could react.

"Owww!" Olivia shrieked as he spun her around, wrenching her arm painfully behind her back. "Let me go!" She ended up bent over in front of him, staring at the floor as he twisted her arm high up on her back. The pain was excruciating, like there was fire running from her wrist to her shoulder. She choked out a trill scream and tears began streaming onto the dull linoleum in little splatters that would eventually begin to pool if he held her in that position long enough. "Stop it...please!" she pleaded, and he applied more pressure, forcing her up on her toes. Some distant awareness noted that he'd taken his boots off, and his big toe was sticking out through a hole in his dirty sock.

"And what's this, then?" He plucked the Nutty Bar from her right hand. "This doesn't look like a drink of water, _Olive._" he said, snarling her mother's nickname for her like it was a curse. He leaned in close behind her, pressing up against her backside, his breath rank as he whispered in her ear. "Your doctor friend isn't around anymore. There's gonna be some changes around here, princess."

Her confusion as to who he was talking about didn't even fully form as a thought before he spun her around, and the unexpected blow to the side of her face knocked her sideways into the wall. Her head rebounded with a crash and she collapsed onto her back, the taste of blood thick in her mouth as she stared up at him in a disorienting mix of fright and pain, her limbs refusing to move properly.

"I don't like being lied to, _Olive_." her stepfather spat, bending over her. "You hear me, girl!" he shouted, droplets of his spittle hitting her in the face.

"I'm sorry..." she murmured dully, her gaze fixed on the ceiling over his shoulder. There was a crack in the plaster she'd never noticed before.

"I don't like having to punish you, Olivia." he said after a moment, the anger seemingly gone from his tone as if it had never been there. "You know I don't, right? You've gotta stop lying to me, Livvie."

"I'm sorry..." she mumbled automatically again, feeling like she might throw up. Her father had always called her Livvie. "I...I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's all right." he said, ruffling her hair as she sat up on her elbows. "Now get to your room. Your mother will be home soon."

He left her there on the floor, grabbed another beer from the refrigerator, and then moved back out into the family room. Olivia waited until she heard the creak of his recliner before she rolled on to her side and attempted to get up. The jolt of agony from her right arm as put pressure on it, tore a gasp from her lips, followed by a racking sob, which she stifled with the palm of her left hand. When she was sure that she had control of herself, she pushed off her good arm and climbed to her feet, and then hurried past doorway to the family room, keeping her gaze on the floor. Instead of heading to her bedroom as she'd told him, she made a beeline for the hall bathroom and locked herself inside.

Olivia sank back against the bathroom door, hiding her face behind both hands and finally let the unshed tears flow freely. Her cries were hoarse, and came from deep in her chest, starting out slow, but quickly building momentum into a life of their own, which she struggled to maintain control of. By the time she was finished, her ribs were sore from the effort, along with her throat, which felt like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper.

She moved in front of the mirror to inspect the damage, and flinched at sight of her face. There was a nasty looking bruise on the left side, a purplish imprint about the size of a fist, just below her eye and running from her ear to her nose, plainly visible on the pale skin of her cheek. Her tongue was a bright point of pain, and she figured she must have bitten it at some point, probably when her head hit the wall. Grabbing a tissue, she dabbed at a spot of blood under nose, then quickly washed her face and reexamined herself. There would be no hiding what had happened to her. It would plain as day for her mother, or anyone else to see.

Rachel looked up anxiously as she entered the bedroom. She hopped off the bed and ran across the room to Olivia, wrapping her little arms around her waist. "Livvie!" she said, burrowing her head into her shirt. "Why daddy mad?"

Olivia didn't answer, and instead pulled the Nutty Bars from her pocket. "Here you go, baby girl." she said, opening the package and handing them to her sister. Miraculously, the snacks had survived, and were in fact completely unscathed by her stepfather's wrath. If only she had been so lucky.

Rachel pulled one of the bars from the package and began happily munching on it, examining the stuffed animals she had arranged on the floor in one corner of the room. Olivia glanced up at her bookshelf, then pulled _Winter's Tale _back off the shelf and threw herself down on the the bed, intending to start over from the beginning.

"Livvie?"

She looked over at her sister, who was standing next the bed with a troubled look on her face. "What is it, Rach?" Olivia said, setting the book down on her chest.

"What happen your face, Livvie?" she said. "You get hurt?" An alarmed expression crossed her face, and she pushed up on her toes for a closer look.

"I...I...slipped," Olivia said finally, realizing that there was no way she could tell her sister. She wasn't ready for truth about what she had to look forward to, she could protect her from that at least, if nothing else. "I was...in the bathroom, that's all."

"You okay?" Rachel said hopefully, climbing up on the bed next to her.

Olivia forced a smile on her face and nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine, Rach."

Rachel's eyebrows furrowed, and she looked down at the remaining Nutty Bar, still in the package. After a moment, she pushed the package in Olivia's direction. "You want my Nutty Bar, Livvie? Make you better? Make you not sad?"

Olivia's vision blurred, and she pulled her sister into her lap, hugging her close. Rachel's arm clung tight around her neck, and Olivia could smell the baby shampoo her mother still used on her hair. After a time, she released her and took the proffered chocolate bar.

"Thank you, baby girl," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "It will make me feel better." For a little while, at least. Until the next time.

She had relearned a valuable lesson on the kitchen floor, one she had forgotten in recent months. Where her stepfather was concerned, she had to be wary every minute of the day, every second.

* * *

**-Brighton, Massachusetts **_**2008**_

**Olivia** examined her face in the mirror, looking for signs that she looked older than she had the day before. She pulled at the skin under her eye, testing its elasticity. It seemed just as it had, and not a sign of a wrinkle to boot. She hadn't really expected otherwise, though Rachel would surely tell her that if she wanted wanted it to stay that way, now would be good time to start applying all the skin lotions and moisturizers religiously that she'd been trying to push on her lately. As if she ever had time for more than the basic lotion she'd been using for years. Besides, she liked the smell of hers, and saw no reason to change at this late a date.

She quickly looked over the rest of her body, happy to see no signs of sagging up top or on her backside, and then moved out the bathroom to get dressed. The Bishops were normally pretty punctual, no doubt thanks Peter, and they would be ready and waiting for her soon outside their hotel. After making the easy choice of a dark navy suit and white blouse, she grabbed her coffee, gun, and keys and was out the door doors moment later.

Her thoughts returned to Peter as she made the drive to their Cambridge hotel. She had not seen hide nor hair of him, or even heard from him at all since dropping him off after their lunch at a little Thai place she'd known of the day they had questioned the waitress about The Observer. She had thought of him several times in the intervening week since then, wondering what he was up to, but had not had any real reason to contact him. Broyles had kept her busy with mandatory training seminars, of the sort she used to attend with John when such things were required of them, and she had not had any time to put in an appearance at the lab. She had tried her best to maintain her attention on the instructors, but found the subject matter to be utterly mundane and hardly relevant after the cases she'd been working since the formation of Broyles's task force. Instead of focusing on evidence collection techniques and the use of information technologies in case building, her thoughts had occasionally drifted to the younger Bishop, but mostly she had just been increasingly anxious about the upcoming date, which unfortunately had finally arrived with its usual lackluster.

Her introspection in front of the mirror was her special day's lone consideration, the only acknowledgement she intended to give it. It was her usual routine, one she had developed after years of in vain hopes. The case would actually be a blessing, a distraction from a day spent waiting impatiently for the inevitable arrival of her yearly reminder from Him.

Turning eastward on to Cambridge Street, she guided her suv over The Charles as the Bishop's hotel slid into view through her passenger door window. The hotel towered above the surrounding buildings, and as she turned her vehicle toward it, she could just barely make out two forms standing on the sidewalk in front of the entrance several blocks away. The indistinct forms slowly resolved into Peter and Walter as she drew closer, and her lips upturned involuntarily at the sight of Peter's scowl as she pulled up to the curb in front of them. Walter's doing, without a doubt.

Peter flashed her a grin behind a pair of dark aviator sunglasses as he crossed in front her, running his fingers over the hood in an oddly affectionate looking gesture. The sight of his corduroy jacket and untucked button-down shirt irritated her for some reason, as if his freedom to dress casual was an intentional affront to her sensibilities, either that, or she was just jealous of his being able to do so. Walter followed after him in a brown sweater, smiling incessantly in his childlike manner as he climbed into the backseat, slamming the car door closed loudly behind him.

"Hey there." Peter said good-humoredly, slipping into the passenger seat next to her, paper coffee cup in hand. "G'morning."

His mood seemed entirely too bright for her on that day, and for the first time since meeting him, she found herself wishing for Charlie's more serious disposition at her side. "Hey." she said in a clipped tone, giving him a nod and looking back at Walter through the mirror.

"Hello, Agent Dunham!" Walter said, grabbing the back of her seat and pulling himself toward her. "How are you this fine morning?"

"Hello, Walter." Olivia said, pulling away from the curb and turning toward Harvard.

Broyles's instructions had included grabbing a forensic field kit from the lab, in addition to anything else Walter thought he might need to be ready for anything.

She sensed Peter narrowing his eyes at her lack of response to his father's greeting, or to his own, but she didn't have the energy to devote to putting on a pleasant demeanor just for their benefit. Not on that day.

"So...where are we headed?" Peter asked after a few minutes of uneasy silence. "You said something about a diner on the phone?"

"Yes, I'm rather hungry." Walter chimed in from the back seat. "Will there be food available?"

"Walter...give it a rest." Peter began, holding his left hand palm-out toward his father over the center console. "Sorry...he's been a bit obsessed about eating certain foods the last few days." he said giving her an apologetic look. "And we didn't really have time to eat more than the hotel's continental breakfast, and after two months of that, it's not something you look forward to."

Olivia glanced over at him. "After we pick up some equipment from the lab, we're heading out to Milford, a little town about forty-five minutes southwest of Boston." she said, "We'll find out why when we get there.

Peter nodded in recognition. "I've been there before." he said, taking a sip of his coffee and then gesturing vaguely to the southwest with his cup. "South on 495 from I-90, right?"

She made no reply and wondered testily if there were any places he hadn't been, finding his worldliness annoying at that moment, and then chiding herself for it. _Stop being a bitch, Olivia_. He wasn't bragging, in fact he never bragged about the all places he'd been. She ran a comforting hand through her hair and took in a calming breath. The day was already starting to get to her, and it had only just begun. Not exactly a good sign.

.

The address in Milford that Broyles had given her was unnecessary, as the location they were looking for became apparent almost at once from the multitude of emergency vehicles surrounding an apartment building not far from the highway. The perimeter that had been set up by local PD was fairly distant from the building, and after flashing her ID out the driver's door window at the cop on security detail, she and the Bishops were allowed inside. The first thing she noticed was a gray van she recognized as being from the CDC, sitting in front of a ring of fire trucks which blocked the view of the front of the building. Peter had noticed the van too, and glanced over at her uneasily as she drove slowly through a gap in the fire trucks, and the ground floor of the apartment building came into sight.

"Oh...now that looks exciting!" Walter said, pressing his face against the window.

"Yeah..." Peter said dryly, rolling his eyes in her direction. "Cause that's always the first thought that comes to mind when I see CDC containment tents and people in hazmat suits, what about you?"

Olivia gave him a tight smile and eyed the white tents surrounding the corner of the building. She had to agree with Peter, CDC quarantines were not high on her list of sights she enjoyed seeing when arriving at a crime scene.

"So did Broyles tell you what exactly this was about?" Peter asked as she parked her suv behind a black sedan she thought might belong to her boss.

"Nope." she said, turning off the ignition. "Just that there had been an incident, and it was-"

"Let me guess, it was something that we had to see?" Peter said with a grin, his eyes twinkling.

Olivia smiled despite herself. "You're learning." she said, pushing open the door and climbing out.

The first thing Olivia noticed as she stepped on the sidewalk, was a faint, unpleasant humming sound, which she was unable to pinpoint the source of after glancing around the immediate vicinity. She was about to mention it to Peter, but he appeared to not notice, or maybe it didn't annoy him the way it did her. Trying not to be hyper-sensitive, she moved around to the back of her sub, grabbing the latch for the hatch, and lifting it open. They had brought along a small folding table to set their gear on at Walter's insistence, and as she reached for it, another pair of hands darted in to grab it first.

"Here, lemme get that." Peter said, stepping up beside her.

Olivia stepped back, finding his chivalry amusing, if nothing else. He pulled the table out and unfolded the legs, then set it up behind the open hatch. She reached in for the forensic field kit and pulled it out. Peter grabbed the remaining boxes of equipment and dropped them roughly on the table next to the field kit.

"Careful, son, careful!" Walter said, moving past them behind Peter. "There are delicate instruments in there!"

Peter studiously ignored him, as he began unloading the box and laying out their gear, and Olivia suspected that that was his usual way of dealing with his father's peculiarities on a daily basis.

As she flipped back the lid on the field kit, the humming sound that had faded into the background noise suddenly increased in volume, and it sounded as if someone was actually humming in tune to the irritating sound. She looked around and saw that Walter was the guilty party, his head swaying slightly he walked away from them toward the street corner. Olivia let out a huff of annoyance, shaking her head at his back.

"What is it?" Peter said, his dark sunglasses focused her face.

"Oh...that doesn't bother you?" she asked, inclining her head in his father's direction.

Walter was standing still, staring upwards at a telephone pole set into the concrete of the sidewalk.

"Are you kidding?" Peter smirked, glancing toward his father. "The man falls asleep counting PI to the one hundred first digit. That's soothing compared to that."

_It doesn't sound too damn soothing to me_, she thought, and moved away from the table. She approached Walter intending to put an end to it.

"Walter!" Olivia said sharply as she drew close to him.

"Oh!" he said looking back at her. "Was I humming? I thought it was in my head!"

"Well...it wasn't." she said, coming to a stop beside him. She looked up, trying to discern what was so fascinating to him.

"Forgive me Olivia…" he said apologetically, and looked up at the transformer mounted on the telephone pole. "Nothing sings like a kilovolt. It has unique pitch. There's nothing else in nature quite like it." He sounded almost proud of the thing.

Olivia glanced up at the gray cylinder, and realized that it was the source of the irritant she'd heard earlier and was still hearing. "I'm sure you're right, Walter." she said after a moment, and then moved away from him.

"What is it?" Peter said, sounding concerned as he trailed after her. "What's on your mind, Olivia?"

She stopped and turned back to him shrugging her shoulders. "Just a short fuse today, I guess." She said curtly, as two figures wearing the white hazmat suits came around the corner of the tented off area around the base of the building not far from them. They were pushing a stretcher with a blue body bag strapped to it ahead of them, toward a waiting nondescript black van which screamed government to her and anyone else who cared to notice. Olivia decided that they had wasted enough time, and moved off to find Broyles.

"Indeed, Agent Dunham," Walter said, following behind her. "The tension in your voice indicates that you're carrying a heavy psychic burden. Tortured by the depths of some horrible-"

"Walter..." Peter called to him, thankfully cutting his father off. "I think she liked it better when you were humming."

Olivia put Walter and his idiosyncrasies out of her mind and moved down the sidewalk toward the translucent isolation enclosures, wrapping around the diner set into the base of the apartment building like a polygonal cocoon. Retracing the steps that the asexual figures pushing the stretcher had taken, she turned the corner and spied a group of official looking men standing near what looked like an entrance the quarantine enclosure. She easily spotted Agent Broyles among them, his tall, thin frame towering over the others. He was talking to on overweight man in a black overcoat, whom she guessed to be his counterpart from the CDC.

Broyles acknowledged her gaze, then shook the larger man's hand, leaning forward to speak to him. The other man 6 and turned to the group, speaking and then motioning in Olivia's direction.

Agent Broyles moved away from the congregation, his purposeful stride carrying him toward her down the sidewalk. He held a thin, black case file in one hand. "Agent Dunham." he said, then looked over shoulder. "Dr. Bishop, Peter. Thank you all for arriving in a timely fashion."

"What do we have here, sir?" Olivia asked, her gaze lingering on the men from the CDC.

"Yes..." Walter said, rubbing his palms together in anticipation. "It all looks terribly exhilarating!"

"Walter..." Peter groaned, shaking his head. "Just let the man speak."

Broyles gazed at Walter with some concern for a moment before going on as if he hadn't spoken. "What we have is a diner full of dead bodies, one of which is headless, and the rest bleeding profusely out of their eyes, ears, and mouths."

"Oh my!" Walter said, sounding impressed. "That does sound rather alarming."

"Our thoughts exactly, Dr. Bishop." Broyles said. He turned to Olivia. "If you'll follow me..." He gestured toward the entrance to the CDC enclosure, and then led them inside through the outer portal and into a vestibule space which contained another portal on the opposite side.

She and the Bishops followed her superior through the second doorway, after which was an abrupt turn into a narrow corridor, with the brick of the building comprising one wall, and the framed out vinyl of the enclosure forming the other wall and the ceiling. The interior was already unpleasantly warm, and lit by a gentle glow provided the sunlight through the translucent material of the vinyl, which also gave off a noxious odor, not dissimilar to that of burning plastic, that made her nose twitch.

The corridor was short, and they soon approached a large window set into the brick face of the apartment building. _Holly's Diner_ was written in a bold font across the center of the glass in an arc. Just past the window was the entrance to the restaurant, a glass door that Olivia noted appeared to have large amount of blood dripping down from a splash of red on its upper half. Broyles stopped in front of the window, glancing inside at the hazmat suited men and women examining the corpses seated at several of the tables and booths, and lying on the floor. One of them was removing a pair of handcuffs from a pair of arms sticking out of a blue body bag lying on top of a stretcher.

"We were lucky it was late enough that the diner wasn't full of customers." Olivia commented, quickly counting out only six visible bodies, including the one on a stretcher that was about to be removed from the scene. Most of the tables were undisturbed, with no sign of having been in use prior to the attack, or whatever it was that had happened there. Counting the body she'd seen on the stretcher outside, that made only seven victims total.

"Oh...I don't know," Peter said, cupping his eyes as he peered in through the window. "Seven seems like more than enough to me."

"The incident occurred approximately six hours ago." Broyles said, cracking open the black file folder and glancing inside. "The local police department responded to a disturbance called in by an employee around two a.m. Their man on the scene, an Officer Pitts, was in the middle of calling in a 5150, when he stopped responding to dispatch mid-sentence." He closed file with a snap, and then turned toward the window. "All the CDC has been able to determine so far is that they were all exposed to high levels of radiation."

"Have we ID'd any of the bodies yet?" Olivia said, stepping aside to give Walter some space in front of the window.

"All of them were locals." Broyles replied, and handed her the binder. "Except for one. Emily Kramer. Last night was the first night that anyone had seen her in two weeks. It seems she was reported missing by her parents. Her body was found cuffed, so I assume that she was subject of the 5150."

"What is this 5150 you keep referring to?" Walter said, still looking in through the window. "It sounds very intriguing."

"It's a cop scanner code." Peter said to his father. "It means a mentally disturbed individual is being detained. You know, I'm surprised you haven't heard it before, Walter."

"Oh?" Walter said, looking over at him shrewdly. "And why would that be, son?"

Before Peter could reply, Olivia cast him a warning glare. Now was most definitely not the time. Peter got her message, his unshaven cheeks coloring faintly under her gaze.

"So you think she was a runaway, sir?" Olivia said, before either of the Bishops could get a word in edgewise.

Broyles shook his head. "Her parents say no." he explained. "They say she was perfectly happy. In fact, she had just been accepted to a masters program that she was excited about."

Olivia opened up the file, quickly flipping through the known contents of Emily Kramer's life as Broyles continued his briefing.

"Curiously," he said after a moment, "The level of radiation coming from Emily's body is almost three times as great as the rest of the bodies."

"Are you saying that she's the source of the radiation?" she said, closing the file for another time.

"Don't know." Broyles said with a shrug, and then he looked over at Walter. "Dr. Bishop, any thoughts?"

"Yes, I do..." Walter said. "Where can I get one of those suits?" He pointed through the window at the figures moving inside. "I will require first-hand examination of the bodies as they are, if I'm to be able to make any accurate hypotheses."

Broyles nodded, "The CDC has agreed to let us use any of the equipment they have on hand." he said, motioning back they way they'd come down the enclosure. "This way."

.

He led them back outside, where a woman from the CDC was more than happy to provide them with three of the white protective suits from the back of the gray van. Broyles left them afterward, instructing her to keep him the loop on any developments.

"If I'd known we were gonna be going to a sauna," Peter said, looking at his suit uncertainly. "I'd have dressed more appropriately. That tent was hot."

An image of Peter in a sauna scorched through her mind before she could staunch it entirely. She felt her cheeks grow hot and covered the reaction by bending over her suit and stepping into it. "You ever worn one of these before?" she said, straightening and pulling the suit up to her waist and then over her white blouse as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

"Can't say that I have." Peter said, following her lead and removing his jacket. He stepped inside his suit and then pulled it up around his shoulders.

"Then you haven't really felt heat yet." she said with grin, feeling pleased that for once, she was the one with the experience. Not that it was a competition. It was just that being around two geniuses all the time, one of which was a world traveler, could make one feel a bit marginal, a feeling she was not used too.

"And that's perfect." he said grumpily. "...Just perfect."

Olivia turned around, exposing the thick zipper on the back of the suit to him. "Can you zip me up?" she said, looking back at him.

"Sure thing." Peter replied easily, stepping up behind her.

Olivia felt him push her hair to the side and then a tugging as he pulled the zipper up to her neck.

"There." he said, as then turned his back to her."Now you get me."

Olivia grabbed his zipper in kind, and tugged it up to his neckline. She noticed he had a faint scar running diagonally across the back of his neck, before disappearing underneath his shirt, and wondered what misadventure in his past had brought it about.

Peter looked back at her over his shoulder. "You got it?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

Olivia let go of the zipper of his suit, realizing she'd just been staring at the scar distractedly. "Yep." she said, turning away from him and grabbing the mask of her suit off the curb.

"Will you two hurry it up, already?" Walter said, coming around the side of the van, fully dressed with his mask already in place. He was carrying several pieces of equipment with him, the only one of which Olivia recognized was his old Geiger counter.

"How did you..." Peter started to ask, then stopped, holding a hand out toward his father. "Never mind...I don't want to know why you're so familiar with hazmat suits." He grabbed the face mask for his suit, and looked at her for instruction on its attachment.

Olivia showed him the proper way to attach the mask, and then led the Bishops back through the portals and into the narrow passageway which led to the entrance to the diner. On her first time inside containment enclosure, she hadn't paid too much attention to the splash of red on the upper half of the diner's glass door, and as she approached the door for a second time, details which she must have seen before but subconsciously filtered out, began to emerge in concise detail.

It was the long hair, mixed in with other solid chunks plastered to the inside of the door by the dried blood that really drew her attention. She gazed at the hair and particles for a long moment, thinking that there were far too many of them, and that she'd never seen a bloodstain like it before in her entire career with the Bureau.

Walter suddenly brushed past her, pushing open the door and stepping inside. Peter reached out from behind her as the door swung shut, catching it, she then holding the it open for her.

"Ladies first." he said through his face mask. His voice sounded muffled, but she could still hear the grin in his tone.

Olivia grunted, and then glanced back at his blue eyes, just visible above the breathing apparatus through the clear window of the mask. She intended to tell him that she was perfectly capable of getting the door herself, but as she saw the sweat rolling down his forehead, she decided that she was just being hyper-sensitive again, and merely nodded her thanks instead.

Turning away from him, she followed Walter inside the restaurant. It was an average looking diner, homey, and exuding a friendly atmosphere with an L-shaped bar on one side of the space, and a red brick wall opposite it, with a painting of a large waterfront scene centered in the middle. The bar top and tables were finished with a dark brown stain, which was polished to a sheen and reflected the overhead lighting. Red cushioned chairs and bar stools completed the look, along with a smattering of smaller paintings and photographs hung randomly throughout. At least, it would have been homey, Olivia thought as she moved further inside, if it weren't for the bodies that were slumped over in their seats or lying on the tiled floor between the tables.

There was a bald man leaning back against the brick wall in his chair, trails of blood running from his eyes and down his cheeks before merging with the blood that had flowed from his gaping mouth. Whatever had happened appeared to have been painful, from the way his face was twisted in a snarl. There was a woman lying on the floor at his feet, thankfully face down, who must have been sitting with him, as there were two cups of coffee on the table next to the bald man. On the floor near the end of the bar, was a younger man lying on his side, his face also a bloody mess. From the apron covering the his blue striped polo shirt, she thought he must have been an employee of the diner. There was another body under the front window, a woman, and another, a man who must've been the cook, through a green curtain which separated kitchen from the dining room. A police officer was slumped over the bar top, miraculously balanced against the stool next him, who had somehow managed to stay upright through the ordeal. His face was turned away from her, and she assumed it looked the same the others. He must have been Officer Pitts.

"Well this is pleasant..." Peter murmured from behind her. "That whole not eating much breakfast thing, it's working out great right now." He stepped beside her, surveying the room.

In the center of the room between the bar and a row of tables, the stretcher with another of the blue body bags sat, left behind at the request of Broyles, she assumed. After moving around the restaurant with his Geiger counter, Walter had honed in it like a missile, and was busily pulling the zipper back, exposing the body inside. Peter stepped forward for a closer look, pushing back one edge of the bag.

"Awww, yeah…" he groaned, jerking away from body. "There's no head." he called out, looking over at her.

Olivia glanced inside, and saw a woman's body wearing a gray button down sweater and a pair of jeans. Her neck came to an abrupt end in in a bloody stump, the flesh there torn and ragged. She looked away quickly, not wanting to give her memory any more ammunition to use against her, and to give her stomach some respite from the disturbing sight. She could feel beads of sweat beginning to pool on her forehead, and almost reached up to wipe them away before before stopping herself.

Walter reached inside the bag and lifted one of the woman's arms out by the wrist. He bent over it, running his fingers the length of her forearm, muttering to himself. After a moment, he dropped the woman's arm and reached for the other, repeating the process.

"What is it?" Olivia asked, moving to his side. "Have you found something?" She kept her gaze focused on the woman's hands and wrist.

"I believe this woman was sick." Walter said, looking up at her and Peter. "Most likely Bellini's Lymphocemia." He pointed to some odd looking blemishes on her forearm. "See the striped bruising on her neck and upper arms."

"You know what he's talking about?" Olivia asked, catching Peter's eyes over the body, and then moving around Walter to stand beside him.

Peter nodded. "Yeah...Bellini's Lymphocemia." he said, gesturing toward the body. "It's an auto-immune disease. Irreversible. The body destroys its own muscles and organs."

"Irreversible..." she mused, "Meaning it's fatal."

"Oh yeah." Peter said, nodding his head again.

"Though I've never seen Bellini's cause a victim to lose her head before." Walter added, looking back at them. "And what's even more curious, is that this woman seems to have been in remission." He pointed out several of the lighter looking blotches on her wrist. "Cured even, I'd say…the rash appears to be healing. The bruises receding."

"How do you cure a disease that's incurable?" Peter asked, the deep furrow between his brows visible through the clear window of his mask.

Walter shrugged, letting the arm drop back into the bag. "I haven't the slightest idea, though I myself once cured this disease in a dream many years ago." He let out a muffled giggle through his mask as he moved over to the front counter and the dead police officer. "Opium...fantastic stuff. Of course I forgot the cure as soon as I woke up." he said, jamming a thermometer into the officer's exposed ear with a sickening crunch that Olivia could hear clearly through her suit.

"Ugh!" Peter cringed. "Thanks for the warning, Walter!"

"One hundred twenty one degrees!" Walter said, reading the dial on the thermometer. "That's counter indicative for a hemorrhagic tumor. Most likely it was water molecules excited all at once."

Olivia caught Peter's eye, hoping he would interpret his father's explanation.

"He means the guy's brain was boiled inside his head." Peter said, moving to her side.

"Like a Maine lobster." Walter drawled, pulling out the thermometer. He rested a gloved hand on the officer's head. "I need this body and the headless woman taken back to my lab."

Olivia nodded absently, baffled by the facts of the case as they were presented. They were dealing with a radioactive woman, who'd been seemingly cured of an incurable disease, who at the same time, may or may not have been responsible for the deaths six other people, by means of boiling their brains in their heads. Just before her own head...exploded. It seemed unlikely that the two highly unusual conditions affecting her weren't related, somehow. "Walter..." she said hesitantly, "Her disease…if there's no cure, then how..." She didn't finish her question, her thoughts muddied on what exactly the implications were.

"Well, that's the question." Walter said, moving away from the officer's body and down the length of the bar top. "...And one which you should pose to whoever was treating her. Which I suppose makes three questions. The other one being, what exactly happened here?"

"That's only two questions, Walter." Peter said, flashing two fingers in his father's direction. "What's the other question?"

"Oh…is it?" Walter said, sounding surprised. The mask of his suit swiveled from side to side as he searched around the interior of the restaurant.

Olivia exchanged confused glances with Peter, who shrugged in reply.

"Oh, the third question!" Walter said, pointing at a bowl of soup several stools away from him. "Umm...could I get some of this onion soup? It looks delicious."

"Walter..." Peter said, shaking his head inside his suit. He moved his father's side and turned him away from the soup. "I'm sure we can find you some onion soup somewhere else that hasn't been exposed to lethal levels of radiation."

"Oh yes!" Walter said, his mask bobbing up and down. "Wonderful idea, son!" He clapped Peter on the back and then moved toward the blood splattered door at the entrance. "To the lab!" he cried, looking back at them, and then hurrying out the door.

"...And I guess we're done here." Peter said at her inquiring glance.

Olivia nodded, and the two of them followed after Walter to the exit. Once they were outside, she unhooked the mask of her suit and pulled it off with a sigh of relief. Peter did likewise, and then ran a hand through his hair. Much like her own hair, his dark curls were sopping with sweat and tight to his head.

"You weren't kidding about the suit being hot." he said, turning his back to her. "I think I may have lost ten pounds."

Olivia grinned as she unzipped him. "I know the feeling." she replied, turning around so he could do the same for her. "You should try being in one for hours at a time. In the middle of summer."

"No thanks." Peter said, tugging the zipper down her back. "I think I'll pass on the next dress up day. There you go."

When she turned around, he was just peeling his suit off, pushing it down to his knees. His shirt was soaked as well, and she hesitated before pulling off her own suit, thinking of the predicament she might be in with her white blouse and the black bra she was wearing underneath it. Despite the fact that he'd already seen her in much less, it seemed different now. The situation was different, and they were different toward each other than they'd been back when she was mind melding with John.

Peter glanced over at her as he stepped out of his suit, his eyes narrowing on her face, and then on her wet hair. "I...uh...I think I'll go check on Walter." he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Who knows who he could be terrorizing right now, you know?"

Olivia nodded, silent but thankful that he had recognized her issue. He was a perceptive man, something she overlooked occasionally with his sarcastic and often comedic personality. It was not be forgotten.

He moved off in the direction Walter had run off to, grabbing his coat off the bumper of the gray CDC van as he past it by. When he was out of sight, she peeled off her suit, and was glad that she was alone at the sight of her wet shirt. She quickly grabbed her suit jacket off the bumper next to where Peter's had been, and pulled it on, feeling like a knight who'd just donned her suit of armor once more.

Pulling her wet hair out from under her jacket, Olivia fanned it out over her shoulders, and then went search of the Bishops. As she walked among the emergency vehicles looking around for them, she made a mental list of the things that needed doing before she left the scene, and even went so far as to add finding Walter non-radioactive onion soup to the very end.

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**Sorry for the long gap between updates! I've been on vacation with the family, and haven't had much time to write. **

**This is the first part**** of 1x06. I hope it's up to par. Please let me know what you think of it!**

**Thank you for reading!**


	42. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

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**-Harvard University**

**Peter** unbuckled his seatbelt, glancing over at the blond-haired agent who sat staring out the driver's door window. She was sitting stiffly in her seat, her fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel as she waited for him to exit the vehicle.

After they'd stopped for food, there hadn't been much talk between them on the way back from Milford, as she'd spent most of the drive on the phone with Charlie, with her having him run down the name of the doctor who'd been treating Emily Kramer's Bellini's. Walter's gentle snoring from the backseat had provided the backdrop for most of the drive. Whatever was bothering her, it was different than the skittishness she'd displayed a couple of weeks ago during the Meeghar case.

"You sure you don't want me to come with?" he asked, watching her face as he grabbed the door latch.

Olivia turned toward him, their eyes meeting briefly before she looked away. "No...I'll be fine." He thought there might have been a slight hesitation before she shot him down. "I need you to keep Walter focused and on task here." she said, glancing into the backseat at his sleeping father.

Peter nodded, pushing open his door. "Okay...you're the boss." he said agreeably and slipped out of the vehicle. It wasn't like he had really expected her to want company anyway.

As he started to swing the door shut, Olivia suddenly leaned toward him over the passenger seat, getting his attention with a look.

"Hey, uh...after I've interviewed this Dr. Patel," she said, looking up at him through her hair which had fallen forward over her shoulders, framing her face. "I'll swing back by the lab and see how things are going."

Peter shrugged. "Sure thing." he said, reaching for the rear door handle. He pulled the door open and reached in, giving his father a shake. "Walter! Wake up!"

Walter's eyes popped open at once, "Oh! Are we back already?" he said, sitting up in his seat and looking out the open door at the busy Harvard campus.

"Yeah, is it that obvious?" Peter said, moving out of the way so Walter could climb out of the back seat. His father seemed remarkably wide awake for someone who'd just woken up mere seconds ago, and he wondered if he'd been feigning sleep the whole time. It was something he could picture him doing, knowing his eagerness for his son and a certain FBI agent to spend time together.

Swinging the rear door shut behind Walter, he turned back to the passenger door, bending his head down. "I'll see you later then." he said, catching Olivia's eye.

"Yep...shouldn't be more than an hour, it's not far." she said, glancing at her watch. "Hopefully the bodies Walter wanted are here already, and you two can get started on the autopsies."

"Yeah..." Peter chuckled sarcastically, glancing over at Walter, who appeared to be hopscotching though the flow of foot traffic on the sidewalk toward the Kresge Building . "I'm really looking forward to that."

"You know, it could be worse..." Olivia said, her lips curving into into a half-smile. "Your father could have wanted all the bodies for examination."

"Hey now!" he said with mock-outrage, surprised to see a smile on her face, tiny though it was. "I don't need you give him any wild ideas."

Olivia let out an amused grunt, rolling her eyes as he swung the door closed. He stared after her suv wistfully as it pulled at from the curb, puzzling over the mystery that was Olivia Dunham, and whether she would ever trust him enough to confide in him.

When the light-green suv was out of sight, he turned around, scanning the stream of people moving past him down the sidewalk toward the Kresge Building, looking for his father among them. When he didn't spot him right away, he started off in the direction he'd seen him last, quickly navigating his way through the crowd, lifting up on his toes to see ahead of him. It wasn't until he was nearly halfway across the quad did he finally see his father's brown sweater, surrounded by a thin crowd of students. From their young looking faces, he judged most of them to be undergrads, most likely freshman.

_Walter, what the hell do you think you're doing? _Peter said to himself, watching his father's animated movements as he spoke to the group of young people. His voice carried over the wind as moved closer to the circle of bodies, most of them female, he observed as he joined the back of the group.

"...mean to say that none of you plan to take any of the upper level science classes beyond what is required for your core?" Walter was saying, sounding appalled at the idea. "Not one of you is in the Biochem program?" he said, looking around the crowd. "Physics? Engineering?" he asked after a chorus of nays and the numerous head shakes. "Then what are you even here for?"

"I'm hoping to get into Harvard Law after I graduate." A young woman with frizzy red hair said, holding a finger up.

She was dressed in a smart looking suit, similar to those Olivia wore, though with a skirt instead of the pants. From the multi-colored backpack she had slung over her shoulder which conflicted with the whole business look she had going on. He guessed it was not her normal attire.

"Law?" Walter scoffed, his face twisted into an offended frown. "A lawyer! Why on earth would you want to be a damn-"

"Okay, Walter…" Peter cut in smoothly, before he could launch into a diatribe on the uselessness of lawyers, offending the poor girl. He stepped forward into the circle. "Let's let these guys get to class…whaddya say?" He cast a meaningful glare his father's way, and nodded toward the Kresge Building. "We have work to do in the lab…remember?"

Walter's mouth fell open into a circle. "Ohh…of course, son." he said, nodding his head penitently. "Yes…I'm afraid we really must get going. Important work to do, you see."

"Who are you, again?" the red haired girl said, narrowing her eyes at Peter skeptically as the crowd began to disperse. "Are you a student here?"

"No, not remotely." Peter said with a smirk, stepping closer to his father. "I'm...more of an MIT kinda guy, anyway." He put guiding hand on his father's back, turning him toward the lab. "C'mon, Walter."

The girl frowned, looking between the two of them. "MIT?" she said, her freckled face scrunching into a disappointed grimace. "Hey, are you the guys working down in the basement of Kresge?" she said, following after them, resettling her back over her right shoulder. "What's with all the body bags I've seen coming and going out of there?"

Peter glanced back at the young woman, not sure what to make of her. He was surprised it had taken this long for one of the students to approach them about what was going on in the lab. Perhaps he could discourage further questions, and have a little fun at the same time.

"Oh, we're uh…conducting a series of clinical drug trials for an international pharmaceutical conglomerate." he said, keeping his face straight. "Our success has been intermittent so far, but uh…" He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and then gestured toward her as if he'd just had an epiphany. "Hey…you wouldn't be interested in volunteering for the program, would you?" he said, fighting back a grin as her face went pale. "The casualty rates have been slightly higher than average as of late…but, we're sure we have the formula correct, this time. Pretty sure, at least."

"Uhhh…No…I don't think so." the girl squeaked, showing the whites of her eyes. She shook her head rapidly as she backpedaled away from them.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"I…I have to get to class…" she said, turning and fleeing in the opposite direction across the quad. She darted glances back at them occasionally over her shoulder, as if she thought they might follow.

Peter watched her for a moment, chuckling to himself, and then turned to Walter. "What?" he said at the disapproving frown his father was giving him.

"That wasn't very nice of you, Peter." Walter said, moving away from him down the sidewalk.

Peter hurried after him, "And what was I supposed to tell her?" he said. "You think the truth would have scared her any less?" He matched his father's hurried pace down the sidewalk. "Why were you even talking to those kids?"

"They're hardly kids." Walter replied stiffly, "At least they've managed to stay in school. I was merely giving them some advice on their curriculum choices, son, that's all."

"Yeah, cause that's exactly what it sounded like," Peter snorted, shaking his head as they approached weathered exterior of the Kresge Building. "Just a little friendly advice. C'mon, Polonius, let's get to the lab."

.

"Hey guys!" Astrid said, getting up from her workstation as they walked down the steps into the lab. "I assume that the two bodies that arrived a little bit ago means we have a case. Finally." She shook her pen toward the two the stretchers sitting side by side next to the tank, and the familiar blue body bags strapped to the frames of each.

"Finally?" Peter said, crossing over to her. "You actually sound happy about it." He pulled his coat off and tossed it on the countertop next to her computer monitor. "I'm guessing you haven't looked in either of those yet? Cause you may not be so excited once you do."

"Nonsense, Peter." Walter said, laying his brown sweater over the back of the piano. "Young Ascot here, is already developing a keen sense of curiosity." He pulled on his white lab coat and walked over to the two stretchers. "What is a headless corpse in the face of scientific discovery?"

"A what?" Astrid choked, staring between him and his father. "One of those bodies is missing his head?"

"Her head, my dear." Walter said, patting the smaller of the two body bags. "And yes, the poor thing seems to have lost it."

"And the other?" she said faintly.

Peter couldn't help but grin at the ill look on her face. "Oh...his brain was cooked in his skull by a massive dose of radiation…which possibly originated from the headless woman." he said casually with a shrug.

"Oh god, his brain was…" Astrid said, then took an involuntary step backwards, putting more distance between herself and the two bodies. "Wait, they're radioactive?"

"No longer, and I don't believe this fellow ever was." Walter assured her, unzipping the larger of the two body bags. "If the woman was indeed the source, then the half-life of whatever caused the outburst of radiation appears to be quite short, hours even." He pulled the sides of bag down, exposing the cop's blood encrusted face.

Flinching away from the gruesome sight, Astrid dropped back on the stool at her work area. "Aww...it's a shame I have some paperwork I need to finish for Olivia." she said as her fingers began clicking away on her keyboard. "You'll have to start without me." She smiled deviously, staring at her monitor and refusing to meet his narrowed gaze.

"Excellent!" Walter said, clapping his hands together with zeal. "Peter, grab your coat…and let's get this show on the road!"

"I can't hardly wait..." Peter muttered, picking the lab coat he'd claimed as his own off the table where he'd left it last, and slipped it over his shoulders. "Alright...so what's the plan here, Walter?" he said, moving to his father's side and staring down at the man's body. "Do we need to open up his head?"

"His head?" Walter shook his head. "No. We just need some blood samples from him. To compare against the woman's...a control of you will."

"Blood samples?" Peter said, frowning. "That's it?"

"Yes." his father said, and raised his eyebrows. "Why did you have something further in mind?"

"Then why did you want the body, Walter?" he said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "We could have just gotten blood samples from him at the diner."

"Eh? Oh yes...I suppose we could have..." Walter said dismissively. "But then we…we…" He paused, staring absently down at the body. After a moment he shrugged, and then moved over to the cabinet containing the syringes and needles.

"Walter…" Peter began, shaking his head, then cut himself short. What did he care, anyway? It wasn't like the transportation costs came out of his paycheck.

He unzipped the body bag all the way to the man's feet, trying to avoid paying too close attention to the way his pants were skin-tight from the bloating in his legs. He'd died in a nearly upright position, and all of his blood had settled in his lower half. Grabbing a pair of surgical scissors, he began cutting away the material of his pants above his left knee.

"Due to his vertical resting place," Walter said, returning to the stretcher, two large syringes in hand. "We'll need to take a sample from one his legs..." He halted, seeing Peter's handiwork. "Ah, excellent job, son!" he beamed proudly, clouting him on the shoulder.

"Take it easy..." Peter said, stepping away from him. He could do without the gestures of affection or of approval. Their relationship was improving slowly, day by day, but it wasn't there yet. Too much had happened before his father was put away to allow it yet.

"Yes...well...let's get started, shall we?" Walter said, his smile faltering. He swallowed, then, slipped on a pair of latex gloves from his pocket.

Peter watched as his father felt along the discolored skin of the man's thigh, then set the bevel of the syringe and pressed it through the soft flesh. He depressed the plunger, then slowly pulled out it, drawing the thick, crimson fluid out with it. When the barrel was half full, he pulled the needle out, leaving a small puncture behind which didn't bleed more than a drop or two.

"Could you...?" His father pushed the syringe in his direction. "For the blood analyzer, while I get a sample from the lady."

He took the syringe, and went about preparing a vial of blood for the analyzer while his father took another sample from the headless woman. By time it was ready, Walter had the other sample, and Peter quickly prepared another vial and placed them both in his father's ancient-looking blood analyzer.

While they waited for the results of the blood analysis, Walter began his external examination of Emily Kramer's body. Peter watched him for a few minutes as he began cutting her clothing away, then turned and moved over to Astrid's table. His father seemed to have things well in hand, for the moment at least.

"Paperwork, huh?" he said, grinning knowingly as he leaned back against the table next to her.

"Uh huh." Astrid said, not looking up from her typing. "A transcript of her interview with some woman about that observer creep." She stopped her typing, looking up at him curiously. "Did I miss something? I don't remember this during that case."

"We did that last weekend..." Peter said, thinking back to the unexpected dinner and subsequent Sunday they'd spent together, most of it spent driving between New York and Boston. "It was...kinda spur of the moment."

"We?" Astrid said, raising an eyebrow. "Since when have you two been hanging out on weekends?" she said, leaning toward him on her elbow.

"I wouldn't call it hanging out, exactly." he said, glancing over at his father, who was busily examining Emily Kramer's body. He seemed particularly interested in the skin of her forearm, near her elbow. "It was just an interview." Suddenly, he was very glad he hadn't mentioned his and Olivia's spontaneous dinner which had prompted the whole thing.

"Mmhmm..." she replied, pursing her lips. "And I'm sure you were all to happy to accompany Agent Dunham, weren't you?"

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but Walter's excited voice drove his response from his head.

"Oh! Peter!" he said, beckoning frantically toward him with his free hand. "Come quickly! I believe I've found something."

"What is it?" Peter said, crossing over to him with Astrid in tow.

Walter had thankfully covered the body with a blue sheet, leaving only the upper body exposed, headless as it was. He tried to focus on the arm his father was holding up, extending it out straight from the body, like a biker making a right hand turn.

"Look here." Walter said, pointing out a series of blemishes running around the wrist.

The faint markings looked like bruising to Peter's unpracticed eye. "So what, you're saying she was restrained?" he said. "That makes sense, Walter, she was found handcuffed. By him." He jerked his thumb toward the other stretcher.

"Ahhh, but look closer, my boy." Walter said, pointing out another set of bruises, closer to the hand, and obviously fresher than the first set he'd shown him.

"First of all, don't call me that." Peter said, holding up a finger. "And second, what are you-"

"She wasn't a runaway." Astrid said, and they both looked over at her.

"Why yes, Astro!" Walter said, sounding like a proud father. "That's precisely what I was going to say. And the ligature marks aren't all I found either..."

"What else is there?" Peter said.

"A number of injection sites, on both arms." Walter said, running his gloved fingers down the arm to the inner elbow, where there were at least five small puncture wounds. "I would say she was being drugged, or being given medication, possibly both. We should have a better understanding once her blood work is finished. Which should be very soon, I might add."

"Was there anything else?" Astrid asked. "Anything to indicate what caused her death?"

"You mean other than her head exploding?" Walter said, "Nothing yet, but then again, I've only just completed the external examination." He picked up thick apron and shoved his head through the neck strap. "Now for the fun part."

"The fun part?" Peter asked, frowning.

"Of course." Walter said, tying the apron behind his back. "This is an autopsy, Peter. In order to be thorough, we must do an internal examination as well."

"I was afraid you were gonna say that." Peter said glumly, picking up another of the aprons and slipping it over his head with a sigh. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

**Olivia** glanced down at her watch as she hurried down the sidewalk toward the clinic run by Emily Kramer's physician, Dr. Nadim Patel.

It was just past ten o'clock, and the mail wouldn't be arriving at the Federal Building for several more hours yet. Telling herself to stop dwelling on it was futile, as the inevitable anxiousness began to build, as it did every year, in anticipation of her mail's delivery. Her lips thinned as she forced her inner turmoil down to dull murmur with no small amount of determination as she approached the pair of steps which led up to the entrance to Patel Health Care.

The clinic was larger than she expected, much larger, looking more like a hospital than a private practice, with its wide, gray-bricked profile and high roof facade. There was an elaborate multi-level fountain centered between the two sets of steps flanking the entrance, the south entrance apparently, from the sign mounted above the tinted glass doors. Business must be very good for the doctor, and from the high number of people of all ages that were hurrying in and out of the building, she could see why.

Quickly taking the steps up two at a time, Olivia crossed the ornate pavers artistically laid out in front of the entrance like a colossal jigsaw puzzle. One of the doors to her left opened, and an elderly man in a blue cardigan and a dark brown Irish wool cap stepped outside. He saw her approaching and stopped, holding the door open wide for her with a pleasant smile. She nodded as she passed him by, giving him a grateful look in return. The man's gesture made her think of Peter, and how he'd done much the same for her earlier that day at the diner, and her reaction it, which she had thankfully suppressed.

Her edginess was starting to become noticeable, if the tense set of Peter's shoulders as she pulled away from the curb back at Harvard were anything to go by. The last thing she needed was another, _You okay?_ whether it be from him or Charlie. She just needed the day to be over with, and as soon as possible. Maybe she could suspend postal service for the day while she was at it.

Inside the clinic, she hesitated, looking around a spacious waiting room, with a high vaulted ceiling and a large semi-circle shaped receptionist desk being manned by several young women in light blue nurse's scrubs, all of whom were busy helping out patients. The desk was set back against the middle of the far wall, straight across from the entrance. Fanning out to either side of the reception area were concentric arcs of cushioned, straight-backed chairs, which were divided by an aisle running from the entrance to the desk. There were end tables intermixed among the seating, each laden with magazines and potted plants of various flora which she suspected were real, and not of the plastic variety her own general practitioner employed in his waiting room. A fresh, earthy aroma filled the room, promoting a feeling of wellness that was undeniable, and a stark contrast to the sterile smell of cleanliness she normally associated with hospitals and doctor's offices.

The waiting room was crowded, and a low buzz of voices filled the air as she moved down the aisle between the seats to the receptionist desk, pulling her ID from her pocket as she neared the people waiting their turns. Ignoring the disgruntled looks as she moved to the front of the line, she approached the nearest of the young women in scrub s, a thin bleach-blond who vaguely resembled Rachel. She looked up as Olivia leaned over the counter.

"Can I help you?" the young woman said snidely, her nasally voice dispelling the sisterly resemblance at once. "The end of the line is back-"

Olivia held up her badge on its chain around her neck and her ID, silencing the woman's protest. "Special Agent Olivia Dunham, FBI. I need to speak with Dr. Nadim Patel." she said, slipping her ID back in her pocket. "If he's available, of course." she added after a moment, trying to sound friendly, but ultimately failing, if the receptionist's pale visage was anything to go by.

"Do...do you have an appointment?" the woman said, her eyes growing wide.

"No. But he should be expecting me."

"Oh...well, I'll...I'll see what I can do."

Olivia nodded, keeping her face serene, as the girl picked up her phone and dialed a three-button combination that she couldn't make out.

"Dr. Patel?" she said after a moment. "This is Angie from reception...umm...there's an Olivia Dunham here to see you, sir." She paused listening to his reply. "She's an FBI agent." Another pause, then, "Okay, I'll tell her." After another brief pause, she nodded and hung up, smiling up at her weakly. "He'll see you right now. Through that door, and down the corridor, last office on the right." she pointed out a door to Olivia's right. "He said he would meet you on the way."

"Thank you." Olivia said, tucking her hair behind her ears.

She turning and walked toward the door. To her amusement, the lines of formerly disgruntled faces parted for her as if she were a pestilence carrier. She excused herself anyway, smiling graciously as she moved between them. It was not the first time her badge had drawn such reactions from civilians.

Through the door was a large administrative space, with private offices lining the exterior wall of the clinic, and a grid of cubicles in the center of the room, which she guessed to be some sort of call center, from the low voices she could hear coming from within. Along the head-height gray outer wall of the cubicles, stainless steel plated structural columns rose up to the high ceiling, their polished surface reflecting the overhead lighting. There were more potted plants, resting on intermittent shelves at the end of each row of offices, with the occasional vase filled with bright flowers mixed in among them.

Olivia moved toward the office that the young woman had indicated, following behind a woman in a doctor's smock and a nurse discussing a clipboard held up between them. Before she was more than a few steps down the makeshift corridor between the cubicles and the private offices, the door she'd been zeroing in on opened, and a man in a white coat emerged.

His eyes searched around briefly before locking on her, and he began moving in her direction. He was of medium height, and slender, with a receding hairline that had given way to baldness, and had a chestnut complexion that betrayed his Indian heritage.

"Agent Dunham?" he said as he approached, extending his hand out before him. "Nadim Patel. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you," Olivia said, shaking his hand once and releasing it. "Thank you very much for taking the trouble to talk to me, Dr. Patel."

Dr. Patel nodded. "Of course." he said, raising his eyebrows. "I've been told by your office that you have news about Emily Kramer."

"Unfortunately, I do." she said stoically. "Emily was found dead last night." she explained, watching his reaction to the news closely.

"What!" he said, sounding, and looking dismayed. "How? I just saw her several weeks ago...she...she was doing fine..."

Olivia shook her head, "I'm sorry, I'm not at liberty to discuss that with you."

Dr. Patel looked away from her then, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes briefly. "Forgive me." he said, wetting his lips. "I'm just…emotional investment in patients. It's an occupational hazard, you understand." He shook his head, running his fingers over the bald spot. "Her poor parents must be devastated after everything they've been through already."

"Yeah," Olivia sighed, "and I hate troubling you about this now, but, we understand that Emily was suffering from a fatal disease that had recently gone into remission."

"That's right." said with a nod. "Bellini's Lymphocemia."

Olivia hesitated, giving him time to elaborate on Emily's unusual recovery. "Do you...have any idea how that could be possible?" she said finally, after he didn't seem about to explain.

"Medically?" he shrugged, and then shook his head. "No. It's modern day miracle."

"Were you treating her with any sort of radiation therapy?"

"Radiation?" he said, his gaze narrowing. "No, it's never been effective for Bellini's. Why?"

Olivia hesitated again, searching for the unclassified version of events. "The…the circumstances surrounding Emily's death were...unusual." she said after a moment. "...And it's possible that her condition may have been a factor."

Dr. Patel frowned. "Well...I'll get you her records if you think that'll help."

"Yeah, it could help." Olivia replied. "Thank you."

He shook his head sadly, thinning his lips to a horizontal line. "She was finally starting to live again." he said, turning toward his office. "I'll be right back with her file."

She watched him disappear into his office, replaying their conversation in her head. He had appeared genuinely shocked and disturbed at the news of his patient's death. And yet he hadn't mentioned her miraculous recovery until she had brought it up first. His omission wasn't necessarily benign, but it was curious, and not something she would be forgetting.

A minute or two later, Dr. Patel returned carrying a thin file folder.

"Here you are." he said, passing the file to her.

"Dr. Patel," Olivia said, tucking the file under her arm. "How well did you know Emily?"

"Well, I've been..." he started, then stopped, frowning morosely. "I was...her doctor for years. I knew her as well as any doctor knows his patient." he said. "She would confide in me occasionally, when it was bad. Little things, things she didn't want her parents to worry over." He smiled, his eyes going far away for a moment. "I remember her telling me the last time I saw her, that she was worried about a school she was applying for, she didn't believe she was going to get in. It...it was things like that that she would tell me."

"Has she ever mentioned Milford, Massachusetts to you?" she asked, "Or can you think of any reason she might go there?"

Dr. Patel thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No...I'm afraid not. Emily never mentioned it to me."

Olivia nodded. It was too much to hope for. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Patel." she said, reaching into her pocket. "Here's my card, if there's anything else you can think of that might help." She handed him the card, and then started to turn away, but stopped, looking back at him. "You know...she was just accepted at that school she told you about."

After meeting the doctor's sad eyes a final time, Olivia turned and headed toward the exit, shuffling through the file folder she went. Other than dates of treatments, the contents were mostly indecipherable to her, and she gave up reading it before she was out of the building. Peter could give her the layman's version there was anything pertinent in it. She hoped him and Walter had made some progress at the lab, as her interview with Patel had been a bust.

.

Peter and his father looked like they were still working on the autopsy of Emily Kramer's body when Olivia entered into the lab, closing the door softly behind her. Her entrance had gone unnoticed, and she watched them covertly for a moment, curious to see their interactions when she wasn't around.

"Do I really need to be here?" Peter was saying, standing near one end of the gurney, his face turned away from the remains with a look of revulsion as he held something in place for his father. "Couldn't you just use a clamp to hold this?"

"Of course I could." Walter replied, his surgical mask hanging loosely around his neck as bent over the body with a scalpel, cutting away at the jagged edge where the neck abruptly ended. "But I enjoy the company. Quality time, as they say."

"Yeah…cause this is just like throwing around the old pigskin." Peter said dryly. He moved away from the gurney, carrying whatever it was Walter had removed and depositing it on a tray which was sitting on a nearby lab table.

Both him and his father were wearing their white lab coats, along with aprons dotted with splotches of blood around their waists. Astrid was lounging against a countertop, resting her chin on her hands as she watched them from a safe distance. Her apron was clean of any blood stains, Olivia noticed with some satisfaction. It was good to see Peter getting his hands, or gloves in this case, wet. He was remarkably adept at avoiding the tough work when at all possible.

Olivia decided that she'd seen enough, and moved down the steps to the lab floor. She dropped the medical records on a lab table as she went, grabbing an apron of her own off one of the hooks where they were kept when not in use as she past it by.

"What's that smell?" Astrid said, wrinkling her nose. "It smells like some kind of perfume or shampoo…do you smell that?"

"I believe it is the odor of the Hyacinth, my third favorite flower." Walter said, cutting away at the neck stump again. "Associated in mythology with rebirth, which…I suppose in this case is cruelly ironic."

"It's coming from inside her?"

Walter straightened up, staring down at the body, holding his blood covered hands out away from him. "Indeed it is, which indicates either a mutation at the genetic level," he said, his upper body swiveling around toward Astrid. "Or that she's been eating flowers…perhaps drinking her perfume."

"How's it coming here?" Olivia said as she joined the group. In her peripheral vision, she sensed Peter's abrupt movement as he looked up sharply at the sound of her voice from the table he'd been hunched over. She didn't acknowledge him, and didn't want to see any of the concern or questioning looks that were sure to be written across his face.

"Oh, Olivia, join us." Walter said, looking over at her with a pleased grin. He gestured toward the body. "We've learned a few things already."

Peter moved past her, reaching for one of Emily Kramer's arms. "We don't think she ran away." he said, lifting the arm up for her to see.

"There are ligature marks on her wrists." Walter said, walking to Peter's side.

"So she was being held against her will." Olivia said woodenly as a fire stoked to life in her chest. It was clear that someone had done this to the poor girl. It had been trending that way from the beginning, but now that there was definitive proof…Emily Kramer was only a few years younger than Rachel.

Walter nodded. "Either that, or she had a proclivity for sexual bondage." he said, waving his scalpel conversationally. "Scientific observation, not a judgment. Some of my fondest memories are of-"

"Oh Walter, stop!" Peter growled irritably, cutting him off. "Wherever you're going with that…it's just wrong." he said, cutting the air with the edge of his hand.

"There's also this." Walter said, his voice serious again as pointed toward the arm Peter was still cradling. "Subcutaneous injection marks. She was being given medicine intravenously."

"So, whoever was holding her captive…was giving her drugs." Olivia said, feeling her stomach drop as Peter slid his thumb down the arm to a spot near the elbow, where a plethora of puncture wounds decorated the skin.

"Yes." Walter nodded, his voice sounding grim. "But not the enjoyable kind, I'm afraid. In fact…quite unlike anything I've ever seen before. Her blood work showed traces of a radioactive isotope which I have yet to identify, as well as several other compounds which I'm not familiar with either. Yet." he said, and moved away from the body, walking over to his machines and picking up a clipboard lying nearby.

Olivia stared down at Emily Kramer's body, her jaw clenched tightly as the fire that had come to life earlier, blazed white-hot as the implications of Walter's words struck home. Emily's doctor had said that she was just starting to be able to live again. And it had all been snatched away from her…for what exactly? Just to become some sadistic bastard's plaything? To be used up and tossed aside like a fucking lab rat?

"Hey, you okay?" Peter said suddenly, drawing her out of her contemplation.

Olivia turned toward Peter sharply, seething at the look she saw on his face. "Should I be?" she snapped at him. Why the hell was he so concerned about her own well-being? What about the poor girl lying dead in front of him? Where was his concern for her?

He blinked in surprise at her outburst, the muscles of his jaw constricting visibly. Olivia ignored him, and looked over at Walter. Peter could massage his hurt feelings on his own time, she didn't have the patience for it.

"So, how'd she end up in the diner?" she said, stepping away from the Peter. "Did she escape, you think?"

"Perhaps…or perhaps not." Walter replied, his lips downturned as he stared fixedly down at his clipboard. "There are two distinct methods in the process of scientific experimentation." he said, and looked up at her. "Lab trials or field trials. One comes before the other, and I don't believe I need to tell you which." He bent over the body, prodding at it with an eraser of a pencil.

"So…you're suggesting they may have let her go on purpose?" Astrid said, watching Walter with a frown. "Like it was a test?"

"Whoever did this," Peter said, his gaze meeting hers for an instant before sliding over to Astrid. "They wanted to make sure that what they did to her was working."

Olivia considered Peter's words, despite her current annoyance with him. What he and his father seemed to be suggesting was that someone had turned Emily Kramer into a weapon, a weapon which needed testing, fine-tuning, or calibration, perhaps. Weapons only had one purpose, and that was to be used.

"So you think there was something inside her then, that killed those people at the diner, in her…" she said, and gestured vaguely toward Emily's torn flesh.

"Her noggin?" Walter supplied, and then shrugged. "I'm not sure yet…just a theory, obviously. I'll be more certain once we identify the substances we found in her-"

The ringing of her cell phone interrupted him.

"Sorry." Olivia said, reaching into her pocket for and moving away from the group and looking down at the display. It was Charlie. She hesitated a moment before answering, listening to Walter go on as a feeling of uneasiness came over her.

"...Or when whoever did this, tries to repeat their results." Walter was saying as she finally put the phone up to her hear.

"Hey, Charlie." Olivia said hesitantly. "What's up?"

"Liv." Charlie's serious voice said over the line. "We've got another one. Another woman with Bellini's Lymphocemia was reported missing about four hours ago."

Olivia tensed, feeling her blood run cold. "Where?" she hissed through gritted teeth. Fury threatened to consume her for a moment before she gained the upper hand. It was not a good day for this to be happening.

"Acton." he replied. "You at the Harvard lab?"

"You mean…if they take another woman." Astrid said behind her.

Olivia turned and glanced back at the three of them. They were all watching her. Peter's gaze was hard and piercing as their eyes clashed. She looked away from him, feeling like she was exposing herself.

"Liv? You there?"

"Yeah. I'm here." she said. "I'm still at the lab."

"I'm on my way to you." Charlie said. "I'll be there in ten."

"Judging by Agent Dunham's body language," Walter said sadly. "I'd say she is receiving that very news."

"Okay." Olivia said, and ended the call.

She stood still for a moment, her grip on her phone tightening to the point of pain. _Goddamnit_. "You're right, Walter." she said icily after moment of silence. "There's been another abduction. Another woman with Bellini's was taken."

Astrid's sharp intake of breath was the only audible sound in the lab. "What does that mean?" she said, looking over at Walter. "Another Bellini's case? Surely that's not a coincidence!"

"It's curious." Walter said, cupping his chin. "Very curious, indeed. Almost suggestive, wouldn't you say?"

"What are you getting at, Walter?" Olivia said, exasperated at his crypticness. She glanced at Peter hoping he would spur his father to explain himself, but he was ignoring her, whether intentionally or not, she wasn't sure. "Why would someone target women with Bellini's?"

"I suspect that both victims being women, is about the only coincidence we'll find here!" Walter said, pacing the length of the lab table next to him. After a moment he stopped, spinning toward her on his heels. "You must find out if this second woman was in remission like the first." He held a finger up, emphasizing his next point. "Because if that is indeed the case, then it could be that whatever it is that is curing them, is also what makes them a target for our villains' nefarious schemes."

"I'll find out." Olivia said determinedly, pulling the apron over her head. "Charlie should be here any minute to pick me up."

Tossing the apron over a stool, she walked toward the front of the lab, gathering up her things as she went. Stopping the bottom of the steps up, she glanced back, her eyes going to Peter as he watched her expressionlessly from across the lab. He looked fierce, a combination of his stubble coupled with his squinted eyes. It was a look she had associated with him frequently during those first few days after they'd met, after she'd dragged him back to Boston kicking and screaming. She briefly considered apologizing for snapping at him earlier, but only briefly, she'd never been good at apologies. Instead she just have him a nod, which he didn't return, and then moved up the steps, putting him out of her mind as she left the Kresge Building.

What had happened to Emily Kramer wasn't going to happen again. She wouldn't allow it to.

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**Here's the next part of 1x06. I hope it's not too boring, as its alot of procedural stuff. Let me know what you think!**

**Also, I want to thank Guest13 for consistently leaving your wonderful reviews, I wish you had an account so I could reply to them. Thanks so much!**


	43. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

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**-Jacksonville, Florida **_**1987**_

**Olivia Dunham **raced through the trees, her flashlight cutting swathes through the night, illuminating the creaking branches overhead in flashes of greens and browns, and the dirt trail ahead of her which winded underneath them like a snake slivering through the grass. Feeling daring, she flicked the flashlight off, and ran through the velvety darkness as the outline of the trail drifted closer to the tree line which marked the end of the forest, and the beginning of her yard on the other side.

Feeling exhilarated by the wind in her hair, she increased her speed, leaping over a narrow ditch that cut through the path by feel alone, her timing perfect as she landed cleanly on the other side without breaking stride. It seemed her daytime races down the path were paying off. A shaft of moonlight shone through the trees ahead of her, highlighting the base of a thick oak tree at a sharp bend in the path, where it turned and followed the tree line along the back border of their property.

Olivia came to a stop next to the tree, her chest heaving as she leaned on the trunk with one hand. The bark was strangely spongy under her palm, and she quickly pulled her hand away, holding it up where she could see it. Her palm glowed faintly in the moonlight, and she saw dark smear across the center which turned her stomach. Feeling grossed out, she frantically scrubbed her hand on her jean shorts, trying to get rid of whatever it was.

Her mother had warned her about playing in the woods after dark, claiming alligators would get her if she wasn't careful, but Olivia hadn't seen any in the time they'd been living on the outskirts of Jacksonville, almost a year to the day. There hadn't been any gators on the base, she was sure of that. Her father had told her so, once long ago. The memory was hazy now, but she was sure it had happened. She liked the forest, day or night, and had been excited when she'd stumbled upon the dirt trail not long after the move. If she were to follow it long enough, it would take her to a wide creek, where it had abruptly ended, the original trail-breaker not quite as bold as she. Olivia had spent a considerable amount of time lengthening the path since then, running it parallel to the creek.

An abrupt yell in the distance drew her attention, and she looked back the way she'd came, listening for signs of anyone moving down the path behind her. The blackness seemed murkier than it had just a few moments earlier, when she'd been running full tilt, so she moved farther down the trail, to a section where it swerved closer to the tree line, and the moon's light had an easier time reaching the forest floor. Other than the constant, rhythmic chirping of crickets and other bugs she'd rather not identify, the forest was nearly silent, with not even a breeze to mask the distant roar of trucks on the highway. The sudden hooting of an owl deeper in the forest, followed by a rustling noise made her swallow, and she hefted the flashlight, considering whether or not to flick it back on. The light would be visible from outside the forest, as she was standing very close to the edge. The other kids had been behind her, and could have seen her when she'd unexpectedly veered off the street in front of her house.

Someone would be looking for her soon. It was her ninth birthday party after all, regardless of the fact that she hadn't asked for it, and hadn't wanted it, not when any of her real friends from the base couldn't come. She didn't even know the boys, and the lone girl close to her age wouldn't stop talking about barbies. Barbies! The girl and Rachel should get along just fine. It wasn't even a real birthday party, just an excuse for her stepfather to have his creepy friends over, some of whom happened to have children. He had even suggested having the party himself, as if he were doing her a favor.

Olivia moved off the path, pushing her way through the light vegetation to very edge of the woods, where she would have a clear view of the backyard, and of the house they'd been living in for the last year. Its unfamiliar outlines made her long for the comfort their old house, the one with the red-painted front door. She stared at the backside of the house, looking in through the window over the sink. Indistinct shapes moved about in the kitchen, one of which she thought was her mother from the small body hanging on her hip. Rachel still loved to be held, even though she was closing in on five years old.

With a sigh, she reluctantly started moving through the tree line and into her yard. It was time to head back; she'd avoided everyone long enough. Her stepfather would notice she was missing eventually, despite his being drunk. He always did. Before she'd gone more than a step or two, the light on the back of the house suddenly turned on, lighting up the backyard, and the sliding glass door leading out to the patio opened.

Ducking quickly back into the safety of the trees, Olivia watched tensely from the shadows, her eyes wide as her stepfather, followed by two of his buddies emerged. She expected him to start yelling for her, and prepared to move back to the trail. If she was fast enough, maybe she could make it back to the street, where hopefully the other kids were still playing hide and seek in the dark. She could say that she'd been hiding. He wouldn't question her in front of the others.

To her surprise, instead of screaming her name, her stepfather and his friends milled about on the patio, smoking their cigarettes and drinking. She heard voices, but couldn't make out any words, and the occasional laugh echoed across the yard. He wasn't looking for her, and the thought made her giddy with relief. She watched as he tipped back his beer bottle, taking a long drink, then letting out a belch which carried clearly to her ears. Though Olivia knew it was potentially a risky idea, she wanted to get closer, wanted to hear what her stepfather was like when he didn't know she was around.

Olivia turned and swiftly moved back to the trail, heading back in the direction of the street. She kept her flashlight off, navigating by feel once more, until she was even with the patio light on the back of the house, and then cut through the underbrush toward the edge of the forest. The tree line was thicker there, full of ever-greens, and she had to hold the branches down and out of her way to get a view of the house again.

Her stepfather and his friends were still out on the patio, laughing and carrying on, but she still couldn't quite hear them. She looked around the yard, seeing if there was anything she could hide behind that would let her get closer. The swing set and slide were out of the question, its rusty metal frame stood out clearly in the light. The shed was out too, as it was much too close to the patio. Taking a slight risk was one thing, but she wasn't that dumb. A dark smudge on the ground off to her left, about half the distance to the back of the house caught her attention. She stared at the spot for a moment, wondering what it could be, and then it came to her. It was the woodpile!

On the rare nights in winter when it was actually chilly, her stepfather liked to make roaring fires in the fireplace, claiming that where he came from up north, it was a requirement. Olivia didn't know about that, but it looked like a good place to hide behind. Hunching over as she went, Olivia sprinted over to the backside of the woodpile, then dropped down on her rear, leaning back against the uneven surface as her heartbeat returned to its normal gait. She could hear the men much better from her new position, and settled back to listen, digging her fingers absently in to the moist dirt.

"Shit, I got one the other day." a voice was saying. Not her stepfather. "Right between the eyes with my glock. Bam! Nearly blew its head right off. Fuckin' gators. Crawled up right next to my driveway."

"Your glock!" her stepfather said scornfully. "How much did you spend on that German piece of plastic again?"

_German plastic?_ Olivia had no idea what they were talking about.

"It's Austrian, you dumbass." a third voice said.

"Austrian, German, whatever..."

"It was about five hundred, dick." the first voice replied to her stepfather. "You still got that old ruger?"

She heard the sound of glass clinking, then another loud burp. "Nope. Traded it in last week." came the reply from her stepfather. "Picked up a new smith and wesson. Three-fifty-seven snubby."

"A snubby!" the third voice exclaimed.

Olivia listened as her stepfather proudly told his friends all about his 'snubby', whatever that was. It sounded like something from one of those channels Mom wouldn't let her watch. She kept waiting for his voice to change, like it did when he talked to her or her mother for any amount of time, but it never happened. He sounded normal, almost friendly even, as he and the men talked about his prize.

"Yeah, it might have power, but it's got no range!" the first voice carried to her. "You gotta be right on top of whatever you're trying to hit."

"Yeah," the third voice added. "My daddy had a snub thirty-eight, I couldn't hit shit with it more than twenty feet away!"

"That's because you're a drunk, Johnny." her stepfather replied nastily, and she heard the sound of flesh striking flesh.

"Oww, fucker!"

Olivia shook her head. Her stepfather was hardly one to talk. She wondered what a glock, a ruger, and a smith and wesson were. Baseball bats, maybe? Though her stepfather was more of a football fan.

"Let's see this bad boy!" the first voice said.

"Yeah. Let's see it!"

"All right, all right." her stepfather said. "I'll be right back. Why don't you roll one of them up while I'm gone, Johnny."

She heard the sliding door open and close, and thought about making her escape while he was inside. Spying on him and his friends was considerably less interesting than she'd anticipated. After a few moments, she spun around, and rose up on her knees, peeking over the top of the pile. His friends were bent over the patio table, focused on something lying on the glass surface. One of them straightened, then held up a plastic baggie, which he rolled up and shoved in his pocket, while the other remained bent over, twisting something she couldn't make out with both hands.

Olivia started to back away from the stack of wood, when the sliding door opened again, and her stepfather returned carrying a small, shiny metal object which she recognized at once from the all the detective shows her mother watched.

It was a pistol. A revolver to be specific. She hadn't even known her stepfather owned a gun.

Interested once more, she moved back to the woodpile, and resumed her position against the backside. Instead of settling for listening to them, this time she watched them through a narrow gap between two pieces of wood that had been stacked against each other.

"Damn!" one of the men swore. He was wearing a baseball hat tucked low over his face. He was the owner the first voice. "That's pretty!"

"Looks like you could take down a bear with that thing!" the other friend said. Johnny. He had dark hair which was cut short in front, but long over his shoulders, like some kind of rock star, minus all the makeup, and the good looks.

Her stepfather passed the gun over to the first friend, who gripped it carefully, as if testing its weight. He held it out in front of him, like he was getting ready to shoot something.

"It's heavy..." the man commented, "Way heavier than my glock. Is it loaded?"

"Oh yeah." Her stepfather said. "Doesn't really do much good if I gotta stop to load it when somebody breaks in, does it. Keep it the nightstand right next to my bed."

"You ain't worried one of Marilyn's kids will find it?" Johnny said, looking over him. "Ain't got no safety."

Her stepfather shrugged. "They never found the ruger." he said. "The older brat, I caught her in there once going through the dresser awhile back. She won't do that again...believe me." he said confidently, and then laughed. His friends laughed too.

"Still, I bet you can't hit shit with..."

Olivia sank down, turning and leaning back against the wood again, not feeling like listening to them any longer. He was right, she hadn't stepped foot near her mom's bedroom unless she was with her since that beating. Her hand crept involuntarily up to her lip, which had been a bloody mess. Her mom had told the dentist that she'd fallen off her bike when he'd examined her teeth. She'd only been looking for some of her father's things, some old binoculars that he'd always kept wrapped in one of his old t-shirts in his bottom drawer. The binoculars hadn't been there, and she'd never seen them again.

Staring out into the night, Olivia forced back the tears which threatened to tumble down her cheeks. She hated her stepfather and his stupid friends, along with their kids and her stupid fake birthday party. In that moment she even hated her father for dying in some stupid accident, and leaving them all alone. She regretted the thought at once. It hadn't been his fault, he'd just left for work one day and never come home. The pilot of the helicopter hadn't survived the crash either. She'd often wondered if he had had family too.

.

"Right on top, there in the middle!" Her stepfather's loud voice suddenly intruded, and brought her back to the present.

Olivia froze, her heart going like crazy in her chest. She hadn't been paying any attention to them for a while, lost in her thoughts as she had been. What were they doing?

She spun around to look through the crack between the chopped logs again, and heard footsteps approaching the woodpile. Fear took hold of her, stretching her eyes wide open, and she shrank back against her makeshift hiding place, trying to make herself as small possible, ignoring a particularly sharp point digging into her lower back. There was no way they could know she was there, could they? How could they know?

The footsteps stopped directly opposite her on the other side of the logs, and she held her breath, trying to will her heart to cease its beating. The pounding was so loud, surely whoever was on the other side of the woodpile could hear it; she could hardly hear anything else.

"What's on the other side of these logs?" A voice called out from nearly on top of her. It was the one wearing the hat. "Ain't no houses are there?"

"Nah, it's just forest, then swamp for miles." She heard her stepfather reply.

Olivia heard a grunt and then a thud that sounded if something heavy had been set roughly on top of the pile. There was a rustling sound and she was showered with bits of wood and bark as hat man pushed the object he'd set on top around. The movement stopped a moment later, and the footsteps began to retreat across the yard.

"There." hat man called loudly. "Fifty bucks says you can't hit it in three shots."

Olivia covered her mouth, stifling the scream that tried to erupt as what they were about to do became clear. _OhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygod!_

"Steven, what's going on out here?" Olivia heard her mother's voice, sending relief coursing through her. "What are you doing with that watermelon? I was going to cut that up for the kids!"

"Not anymore." he said, with a laugh. "We got us a little action on going on out here."

"Are you crazy? Put that gun away!" she said, sounding fearful. "There are kids running around out here, for Christ's sake!"

"You see any fucking kids out here, Marilyn?" he said, his voice taking on a nasty tone Olivia knew all too well. "Cause I sure don't. Except for that fucking brat that's always hanging on you. The rest are in the front, where they're supposed to be!"

"You don't know that..." her mother said angrily. "It's dark out here, Steven!"

"Any kids out there that don't want to get shot?" her stepfather shouted suddenly.

Olivia was frozen with indecision, the terror at what was happening was paralyzing, making it hard to think, hard to move, hard to do anything but lie there.

"See? No kids!" he snarled a moment later. "Now get your fat ass back inside that house, before you make me do something in front of our friends that I'm gonna regret." His voice was laced with rage, the way it sounded when he was at his worst.

"I'm...I'm here." Olivia finally managed to whisper hoarsely, but it was too late. The moment to fess up had passed. If she showed herself now, proving her stepfather wrong and her mother right, and in front of his friends...there was no telling what he might do...to both of them.

_Please Mom, stand up to him for once! _she prayed desperately, closing her eyes. _Please Mom, just this once, just this once!_

There was a moment of tense silence, and then her mom spoke again.

"Just...just try be careful, okay?" she said, her voice just barely audible.

Olivia's heart sank as she heard the door slide shut. Trembling and in a nearly mindless panic, she flattened herself on the ground face down, covering her head with her hands and squeezing her eyes shut as she waited for the inevitable to happen.

"Dumb bitch..." her stepfather muttered. "Fifty bucks, Doug...it's what you're gonna owe me."

She heard a metallic click and flinched, expecting an explosion to follow. When none came, she opened her eyes warily, turning her head to the side to listen. Maybe he'd changed his mind and-

The gunshot was louder than anything she'd ever heard before, almost like a physical entity that seemed to shake the ground as the blast rolled over her, and then echoed through the forest behind her.

"Haha! Damn, that's a loud motherfucker!" She heard the one named Johnny cackle crazily. "I told you, you can't hit-"

Two more deafening shots rang out in quick succession, driving away coherent thought as bits of wood and wet chunks of watermelon rained down from above. Something heavy landed on one of her legs, and she let out a muffled shriek as three more shots cracked in the night.

The thunderous gunshots faded away as more wood chips and wet stuff bombarded her, until the noise was just a memory, and the ringing in her ears was all that remained. The men hooted and hollered, with her stepfather clamoring for his fifty dollars as Olivia laid still, eyes shut and afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. Little, uncontrollable quivers ran down her spine occasionally, as she tried regain control of herself from the all consuming terror that had overwhelmed her, rendering her incapable of doing anything but trying to burrow into the dirt like a mole. She'd never been so scared in her life, but...the worst appeared to be over. She'd made it through, unscathed, and determined to never do anything so incredibly stupid again. Ever.

Several minutes later, she heard the glass door slide open and then closed, and then silence from the other side of the woodpile. She laid still a few minutes more, before finally sitting up and leaning back against the wood again, her breath coming out in sharp gasps as she searched around her in the dark, feeling for the flashlight she'd dropped. Her fingers brushed up against its cylindrical shape, and she snatched it up, flicking it on and directing the beam toward the spot where something had fallen on her.

A huge chunk of watermelon lay in the sparse grass, its pink insides caked with dirt and splinters of wood. It looked like it had been cracked like an egg; the edges of the greenish shell were jagged and broken, with ragged sinews of pulp and black seeds trailing from it morbidly. Olivia stared at the watermelon, feeling sick as she imagined what her head would look like in the same condition. It could have been her. An acrid odor began filling her nose, and she realized that her shorts were wet, that at some point during the ordeal she had peed on herself, and had been completely unaware of it. So she wasn't completely unscathed after all. Still, it could have been worse, much worse. Luckily, she happened to be wearing a shirt that was long enough in the waist to hide the stain.

_This is just great_, she thought, climbing time to her feet and scrubbing a hand down her cheeks, wiping away the tear-soaked grime. _Best birthday party ever._

* * *

**-Harvard, Kresge Building, Basement **_**2008**_

**Peter **tore off the printout, and began looking over the mass spectrograph of the strange, microscopic capsules found in Emily Kramer's blood. He shook his head at the graph. _Strontium 90. Barium Sulfate. _As Walter had predicted, or guessed, he thought more likely, running his eyes over the other elements found.

_"_Well, you were right about the strontium, Walter." he said, waving the printout as he moved to his father's side. "There's also trace amounts of barium sulfate."

"Hah! I knew it!" Walter said, looking up from his microscope and pumping his first. "Which strontium isotope?"

"Ninety." he replied, handing the sheet of paper to his father. "Is that a normal treatment for Bellini's?"

"I should say not." Walter said with a frown, looking down at the results. "Typical radiation therapy is known to be mostly ineffective fighting Bellini's Lymphocemia, though I've never seen anything quite like these capsules before. They're rather ingeniously designed. The barium sulfate is indicative of…" He went silent, tapping a finger on his lips as his eyes focused inwards. After a moment he inhaled sharply, and then sighed, nodding his head.

"What is it?" Peter said.

"I believe I understand how this cure works." he said, shaking the spectrometer results. "The barium sulfate is the key! The capsules must be coated with it…I suspect in order to allow the radiation from the strontium to be released in a controlled manner, most likely by varying the thickness, or perhaps by staggering the doses. It's really quite impressive."

Peter nodded as comprehension came to him. "They used the barium sulfate's radiation shielding properties to control the dosage of radiation." he said. His father was right, it was impressive.

"Precisely." Walter said excitedly. "Now that we know the cure, we only need find the catalyst which allowed all the capsules release to their radiation at once." He abruptly moved away from Peter, hurrying toward the stairs down to the basement storage room.

"Where are you going?" Peter called after him as he disappeared down the steps.

A moment later, loud clanks and crashes began to rise up from the stairwell, and he hurriedly followed after his father, taking the steps three at a time down to the storage room. He found Walter bent over a cardboard box, tossing objects over as his shoulder as he frantically searched though its contents. Moving closer to him, Peter narrowly dodged a missile of metal and wires that whizzed past his head, crashing into the wall behind him.

"Walter!" he said, grabbing his father's shoulder. "What are you looking for?"

"Aha!" Walter cried, jerking upwards. "This is it!"

He held a small, beige rectangular box in both hands. There was a power cord trailing off of one end, and what looked like a small tube or lens protruding from the other. On what he assumed was the top, a small toggle switch was attached by a pair of sheet metal screws. The contraption looked like it had been fashioned by hand, with duct tape holding it together in several places, and a thick rope of electrical tape looped around the cord where it entered the box.

"What is that?" he asked, frowning at the device. "…Besides an electrocution hazard."

"Electrocution?" Walter said, sounding offended. "Nonsense! Belly and I made this ourselves, back in 1987, I believe it was."

"Yeah…I can tell." Peter said. "What is it?"

"Inside this box is a fifteen-hundred watt magnetron from an old microwave...well, it was new at the time it was made, of course." His father said proudly, holding the box up for Peter's inspection. "Along with an antenna to focus the waves into a tight beam. Perfect for cooking at ranges of up to twenty feet!"

"You made a microwave gun." Peter chuckled. He had attempted to make one once in his early teens, but had never quite managed to get it to work right. "Does it work?"

"Oh yes!" Walter said, moving back toward the stairwell. "Quite well in fact."

"What do you need it for?" he asked, following his father up the steps. "Does this have something to do with Astrid going to the supermarket?"

"I have a little demonstration planned." Walter said, carrying his microwave gun over to a lab table. "For when Agent Dunham returns. She should find it very enlightening."

"What kind of demonstration?" Peter said doubtfully. With the mood Olivia was currently in, he wasn't sure how receptive she would to be to any of his father's mischief.

Before his father could reply, the lab door opened, announcing Astrid's return from the market. "Hey guys!" she said, skipping down the steps from the entrance. She held a plastic bag in one hand, and dropped it on the table next to Walter. "They didn't have any mangos, Walter. I got papayas instead. Will that work?"

"I…suppose." Walter said, opening the bag and staring in at its contents. "Though, I personally prefer the more fibrous texture of the mango…but for our purposes, the seediness of the papaya will make an even more dramatic statement! Excellent work, my dear!"

"I get what you're planning to demonstrate, Walter." Peter said, gesturing toward the homemade microwave device and the papayas. "But I'm not sure that it's such a good idea…"

"Ahh." Walter said, pivoting toward him, index finger held high. "You are no doubt referring to the moodiness Agent Dunham is exhibiting today. Yes?" He hurried over to one of his cabinets and began rummaging through it. "I believe I have a cocktail around here somewhere, which will restore her to a baseline level, alleviating her obvious pre-menstrual-"

"Whoa! Whoa!" Peter interrupted, throwing his hands up like stop signs. "Whatever you think you're doing…you're not." he said flatly. "That just might be the worst idea I've _ever_ heard, Walter."

"I agree." Astrid said though pursed lips. The diminutive junior agent glared across the lab at him, her arms crossed under her breasts and looking visibly angry. "Walter, you'd be lucky if she didn't just shoot you on the spot. Or me…just for saying that out loud." she growled.

Peter nodded his approval at her sentiment. "Just set up your little science experiment." he said, pulling out his phone and moving toward the office. "I'll find out when Olivia's gonna be back."

Walter shrugged long back at them, unaffected by Astrid's baleful gaze. "If you're sure..."

"We're sure!" Peter tossed over his shoulder at the same moment as Astrid.

He glanced over at her rolling his eyes. Olivia had nearly bitten his head off for just asking if she was okay, he could only imagine what she'd do if Walter actually approached her about drugging her...for reasons stated. He'd never seen a volcano erupt in person before, but he could imagine her reaction would about the same.

* * *

**Olivia **glanced from the passenger window over at Charlie's clean-shaven profile as he took the Acton exit off of I-95. The half-hour drive had been mostly spent in silence after he'd filled her in on the details of Claire Williams's abduction, as Charlie's grim seriousness and her own internal turmoil were not exactly conducive for conversation. She didn't mind the silence; it fit her current mood like a glove.

Charlie, having sensed her appraisal, gave her an inquiring look, which she shrugged aside, turning back to the window. A passing sign captured her attention, announcing their arrival at the city limits, and proudly displaying the population; twenty thousand and growing. The number would not be decreasing by one, not on that day. It was a promise.

The town of Acton was unfamiliar to her, as not being a native of Massachusetts, she'd never before had a reason to go there. Her job was nearly all consuming, and what little free time she did have, wasn't spent exploring nearby localities. It seemed pleasant enough, clearly on older side, with historic looking buildings and shops lining the main thoroughfare, along with memorials prominently displaying the town's Revolutionary War heritage. As they wound their way along the main road, she spied white tents being erected off a side street, and a nearby banner informing travelers of the upcoming Acton Town Fair. She watched the tents disappear wistfully in the side mirror. It had been ages since she'd been to a good street fair. It seemed unimaginable that the abduction had occurred in a quaint town like Acton, but it had.

"Now that we're here, you gonna tell me what exactly happened in that diner in Milford?" Charlie said suddenly, glancing over at her. "Something about the patrons dying of radiation exposure?" He leaned close to the GPS screen, mounted in the center of the dash, checking their location. "That's all Broyles would say over the phone about it."

Olivia grunted, looking over at him. "That's putting it mildly." she said with distaste. "According to Peter and Walter, the victims' brains were boiled, inside their heads. Literally."

"Jesus...are you kidding me? What in the hell…" he grimaced, shaking his head. "And the first Bellini's case, her too?"

Olivia nodded. "More or less. Walter believes she was the source of the radiation." she said, sparing him the gruesome details of Emily Kramer's death. It was irrelevant at the moment, and talking about it would only bring the ghastly images to the forefront.

"That explains the Bellini's flag on the wire from Missing Persons." he replied, stretching his neck. "Both females. You think that's relevant?"

"Walter thought it was coincidental." she said, leaning on the door handle with her elbow and rubbing at her temple. "The first victim seemed to be in remission from the disease, which is supposed to be incurable...fatal."

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Did Dr. Bishop have an explanation for that?" he said, making a right hand turn into a well-to-do neighborhood full of old, colonial and cape cod style homes, as was common for New England, with even older full-growth trees towering overhead.

"No...not yet." Olivia said. "At least, not one he's ready to talk about. He's...just like that." She exhaled a loud sigh, running a hand across her forehead. "You know...the first victim, Emily Kramer, she was just starting to get her life going again when it was just...cut short. Some sick bastard did this to her, and they're going to try to do the same thing to Claire Williams, I can...feel it."

Charlie was silent for a few minutes as he guided them along a wide street lined with sidewalks on both sides, which were shrouded by graceful weeping willows or in the shadows of tall oaks and other trees Olivia didn't recognize. Most of the houses were of the large variety; two and two and a half-stories, with tall, steep-angled roofs, and shuttered windows uniformly distributed on the front elevations.

He turned the corner at the end of the block, and then pulled his black suv over to the curb in front of one of the larger houses she'd seen so far, a red-bricked and black-shuttered home, two-story, with a deep-set front porch framed in with large, elegant columns.

"This is it." he said when the vehicle came to a stop.

Olivia reached for her seatbelt, unlatching the strap and pulling it to the side as he killed the engine.

"Hey, Liv." he said, stopping her as she pushed the door open and began to slide out.

She looked back at him expectantly, half in, half out of the truck, waiting for him to go on.

"I get it, you know." he said in a low voice, staring at the steering wheel front of him.

"You get what?"

"That young woman...what was done to her." he said, turning and locking his gaze on her meaningfully. "You know, this coming your way…today of all days." He nodded minutely. "I get it."

_Aww, Charlie_... Olivia thought as they stared at each other in silence. _I _really_ don't want to talk about this right now._

"It's okay." she said with a shrug, trying to sound genuine. "I'm okay." She nodded at the house. "C'mon, let's just get to work."

Charlie nodded slowly, but didn't move. "Listen, Liv...I know you don't like to celebrate, but...happy birthday anyway, kiddo."

Olivia swallowed, forcing out half-smile. "Yeah." she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "It's happy all right."

She pushed the door the rest of the way open and slipped out, swinging the door shut behind her. Charlie followed after a moment later, following behind her up the walk to the front porch of the Claire's home. The columns were even more massive up close, nearly two feet in diameter, and badly in need of maintenance. The paint was dirty to the point of being more beige than white and was peeling in more than a few places. It spoke of neglect...or of attention focused elsewhere, of which the latter seemed the more likely scenario. The panels on the front door were stained a deep maroon color, with the grooves in between an even darker shade which bordered on black. There was a brass door knocker centered in the top row of panels. She reached for it, rapping it sharply against the metal backplate.

The man who threw back the door at her knock, was on the tall side, with sandy, windblown hair. He was well-built, with light blue eyes and a sharp chin. From the reddened flesh around his eye sockets, he'd been crying, and recently.

"Ken Williams?" she said, holding up her ID. "Olivia Dunham, Charlie Francis, FBI."

The man's eyes darted between them. "Claire!" he gasped anxiously. "Have you found her?"

Charlie shook his head regretfully. "I am afraid we don't have any new information, Mr. Williams." he said, glancing over at her. "But we do need to ask you a few more questions."

"I've already told everything I know to the detectives that were here earlier." he said, squeezing the bridge of his nose between both hands. "She just went to the store...and never came back...I don't know what else to tell you!"

Olivia held up her hands placatingly. "Mr. Williams, this isn't about your wife." she said earnestly. "We'd like to ask you about another woman who was abducted recently, who may or may not be related to your wife's case."

"What?" Ken Williams said, looking frazzled as he gripped the edge of the door frame with white-knuckled fingers. "Another abduction? I...I don't understand."

"May we come in?" Olive said gently.

Ken Williams seemed to deflate, letting out a long breath, and then running a hand through his hair. "Sure." he said, stepping to the side, and motioning for them to enter. "Come on in."

Olivia motioned for Charlie to precede her, then followed him through the doorway into the house. The Williamses' home was simply, but elegantly decorated, with plain, sheer curtains covering the windows on the main floor and an expensive looking throw rug over the hardwood flooring in the living room. A pair of grand piano's were the main centerpieces of furniture, only one of which stood open, with sheet music sitting in the rack. A picture of Claire Williams sat next to sheet music in a dark picture frame. She wondered if it was the husband or the wife who played, or both.

Charlie pulled a photo from his pocket, holding it up for the other man to see. "Her name is Emily Kramer." he said, handing the photo to Ken Williams. "She suffered from the same disease as your wife. You ever seen her before?"

"Another Bellinin's case?" Ken Williams said, looking down at the photograph with wide eyes. He looked up at Olivia. "What...what happened to her?"

"Do you know her, Mr. Williams?" Olivia asked, ignoring his question and watching his reaction to the photo. It seemed to upset him for some reason.

He glanced down at the picture again, swallowing. He shook his head. "No, I...I don't think so." He handed the photo back to Charlie and turned away from them. "We don't know anyone else with Bellini's." he said, walking over the open grand piano and leaning over the sheet music, hands on either side of the rack. "I mean, what we went through fighting Claire's disease…and the constant pain…" He picked up the picture frame that was sitting on top of the piano, holding it almost reverently with both hands as he gazed down at it. After a moment, he turned back to them, his face contorted with pain. "When the lesions started appearing, she stopped going out. That damn disease almost took everything from us...even our marriage. And then, then it was like a miracle."

"A...miracle?" Olivia said, thinking of Dr. Patel's words earlier.

"Yeah. Her doctors couldn't explain it." he said, and then smiled, rubbing a thumb across his wife's face in the photo. "Claire started getting better." He looked up at them with excitement. "The pain, it...it just went away."

"She went into remission?" she said, exchanging glances with Charlie.

Ken Williams nodded, still smiling. "About six weeks ago. She was herself again. And now…" His voice broke, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold himself together. "Please find my wife." he pleaded. "Please find her for me."

"I assure you, we're doing everything we can, Mr. Williams." Olivia said sympathetically, and then felt her cell phone vibrating in her pocket. "Excuse me." she said, pulling it out moving away from them as she read the display.

It was Peter.

"Peter?" she said, putting the phone up to her ear.

"Olivia." Peter said in rush. "Walter figured it out. He knows what happened to Emily Kramer and to the people in the diner!"

"He figured it out?" she repeated. "What was it?"

Peter hesitated, and she heard Walter speaking in the background. "It's...it'll probably easier to just let him show you." he said, and then spoke away from the phone. "I'll ask her, Walter. Will you just give me a second? If I say please, will you leave me alone?"

Olivia hid a faint grin behind her index finger, despite no one being present to see. The dynamics of the father and son duo frequently amused her, at least when they weren't irritating her. Which they would be soon, if he didn't get on with it.

"Sorry about that." Peter said a moment later. "Let's just say that he's very excited to show you. When are you gonna be back?"

"I think we're just about done here, shouldn't be more than an hour." she said, glancing back where Charlie and Ken Williams were talking. "Oh, and Claire Williams's Bellini's? It was in remission also, just like Emily Kramer's."

Peter let out a low whistle. "So Walter was right."

"Yeah."

"Perfect...do we have to tell him?"

Olivia snorted, shaking her head. Peter. "Yeah, I'm afraid so, Peter."

"Fair enough." he said, then curiously added, "Hey…you like papayas?"

_Do I like papayas? _He could be so odd sometimes, in the most random of moments. "Umm...they're okay?" she said hesitantly.

"Okay. Just checking. See you in a bit."

He abruptly ended the call before she could reply, leaving her bewildered about the strange turn the conversation had taken at the end.

Papayas?

Running a hand through her hair, she moved back to the living room, catching Charlie's eye and nodding toward the front door.

"Well, I think that's all for now." Charlie said, handing Ken Williams his card. "Give me a call if you can think anything else."

"Sure...yeah..." he said, staring blankly at the card in his hand. "I'll call you..." His eyes had a vacancy to them, a desolation of his entire world that had left him raw, like an exposed nerve.

"You should try to get some sleep, Mr. Williams." Olivia said gently, catching his eye. "Someone will call as soon as there's any news."

He nodded as if that made sense, and then moved out of the living room, leaving her and Charlie behind. They stared after him for a moment, and then exchanged sober glances. The man was not in good shape.

"C'mon." she said, moving toward the front door. "We need to get back to the lab."

Olivia held the door open for her partner, and followed him out into the midday sun, shielding her eyes from the light as they moved down the walk to his suv. She pulled open her door and climbed in, watching as Charlie moved around the front bumper before climbing in himself.

"Was that Bishop who called?" Charlie said, sliding on a pair of sunglasses. "What did he want? I assume he wasn't wishing you a happy birthday."

Olivia hesitated, narrowing her eyes at her old friend. "No…he wasn't." she said after a moment. "Walter figured out happened at the diner."

"Really. And?"

"Peter wouldn't say..." she shrugged, and pulled on her seatbelt. "Apparently it would just be easier to let his father show me. His words. Walter has a bit of a flair for the dramatic."

Charlie frowned. "If you say so." he said, starting the engine and pulling away from the curb. "I'm not sure how you deal with those two on a daily basis."

"Who? The Bishops?" Olivia smirked, relaxing back into the soft leather of her seat. She stared out the window at the passing neighborhood. "They're not so bad…" she mused, "A bit irritating, sometimes, but…I guess they grow on you."

"You gonna tell him?" Charlie said casually, keeping his attention focused on the road.

Olivia looked over at him curiously. "Peter? Tell him what?"

"What today is." he said, turning his dark glasses on her. She couldn't tell if he was for or against it by his tone.

"I…hadn't really considered it." she said truthfully, turning back to the window. She hadn't at least, until he'd asked the question. Now that she was, the thought of having that conversation with Peter was distinctly unpleasant, for reasons that made her uncomfortable to pinpoint. She looked back over at Charlie, finding his interest in the matter strange. He and Peter weren't exactly close. "Why?"

He shrugged. "You told me." he said, turning the suv back on the main road which would take them out of Acton.

"Yeah, but, you were…" she trailed off, not quite sure where she was going with her statement. Charlie had only been her partner at the time. She looked away, catching sight of the white tents again as they slid past. He was right, she had told him, eventually, in their second year of working together. It had been much longer than that before she'd told John the truth, not until they were seeing each other.

It wasn't the same at all. Peter wasn't Charlie, or John, for that matter. She'd only known him a few months, barely any time at all. She couldn't be sure how he would react. Would it be the pity she would see on his face? The fear? Or worst of all, would he think her damaged in some way? It had happened before, and she wasn't all that eager to find out.

"I'll think about it." Olivia said noncommittally, closing off the topic for further discussion. On her list of priorities, having that discussion with Peter ranked near the bottom.

* * *

**Peter **was was sitting at his workspace, watching Walter finish setting up his demonstration, when Olivia arrived, hurrying through the outer door and letting it slam shut behind her. He looked up, just catching her retreating gaze as she looked away from him. Now that she was back, some of the irritation at the way she'd snapped at him earlier returned also. His eyes followed her as she hurried past him toward her office, not once looking in his direction again.

He wasn't sure what he'd done exactly to deserve such treatment, but he was confident that whatever was making her so cranky, it wasn't fucking PMS.

"Hey, Olivia." Astrid said, looking up as Olivia moved past. "How'd it go?"

Olivia stopped at her table, leaning on it with one hand. She shook her head sadly. "He was distraught, exhausted...there wasn't much he could tell us." She ran hand down one side of her head, tucking stray locks behind her ear. "His wife left and she didn't come back. That's it." she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"And she recovered from a fatal illness as well." Walter said, placing a glass dome over the platter he had set the papaya on, dressed up like a Mr. Potato Head. "We mustn't forget that, as it is the single most important fact in this case...the reason she and the first girl were taken in the first place."

Olivia looked over at Walter, raising her eyebrows. "What have you learned?" she said, walking over the area where he'd been setting up his little project with Astrid trailing behind.

Walter backed away from his creation, counting the steps as he went. "And ten." he muttered under his breath, then spun on his heels to face her. "Now, I will demonstrate..." he began, slicing the air in front of him with the flat of his hand. "To understand what happened at the diner, we'll use Mr. Papaya." he said, gesturing toward the little green papaya man like a circus ringleader. "Clear!" He reached for the microwave gun.

Peter rose from his chair and joined them, leaning against the edge of a lab table behind the two women. He crossed his arms, grinning despite himself at his father's stagemanship. The man certainly knew his way around a ring.

Olivia glanced back at him, her green eyes latching on his for an instant. Grinning faintly at her slightly concerned look, he nodded, directing her attention back to his father, who was aiming down the toggle switch on top of the device as if it were a gun sight. Whether she was checking his concern level at Walter's activities, or perhaps feeling remorseful, he wasn't sure; the expression on her face had been unreadable.

"This is very upsetting, because he is the friendliest of fruits." Walter said, straightening, and then flipping the toggle switch and keeping the box out in front of him.

The hum of electricity filled the lab, sounding like the a cross between a barber's clippers and a beehive. Less than ten seconds later, liquid began forming around the edge of the googly eyes Walter had stabbed into place, pooling, and then running down its green cheeks and over the red-marker lips in an ever-widening stream.

"And we have goo-ification." Walter said.

"Is that the scientific term?" Astrid said cheekily in front of him.

"Wait..." Walter said, pointing a finger back at her. "The shows not over yet, my dear!" He moved closer to the glass dome, keeping the beam focused on the green fruit.

The papaya exploded.

He saw Olivia flinch slightly out of the corner of his eye at the sudden detonation and the bits of papaya pulp and seeds running down the inside of the glass, so similar to the bloody glass door of the diner entrance. She darted another wide glance back at him, and then over at Gene, who had mooed loudly at the papaya's sudden demise. She followed Walter over to the remains of the fruit.

"Is that what you think happened to the people of the diner?" she said, as his father lifted up the platter and the glass dome sitting atop it.

Walter carried platter back over to the table and set it down in front of the three of them. He pulled off the lid, wafting the sickly sweet aroma of cooked papaya toward him.

"That beam emits high energy microwaves," he said. "Which cause Mr. Papaya's molecules to vibrate rapidly causing friction and producing heat. Not exactly the same process as what happened with the first Bellini's victim, but close enough for our demonstration's purposes."

Olivia glanced back at Peter, her expectant look want to grin a little wider.

"It's like how a microwave oven cooks food." he said, answering her wordless question. "Only in the Emily Kramer case…she was the oven."

"But then what killed Emily?" Astrid said, staring at the inside of the glass bowl.

Walter shook his head, then scooped up a dollop of the cooked papaya, dropping it in his mouth and licking his fingers. "This demonstration will be far more effective with living tissue." he said, and moved toward the upstairs storage space. "I have some expendable gerbils in the back."

Olivia jerked her head up. "No. That won't be necessary." she said, sounding disturbed.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all!" Walter said, waving her protest aside. "I'm sure you'd like it, Agent Dunham."

"Walter, just...drop it." Peter said, watching Olivia's jaw tighten out of the corner of his eye.

Astrid shook her head, looking between him and Walter. "Wait, am I missing something?" she said, frowning. "How is it that Emily is...um, you know...cooking people?"

Walter nodded. "Excellent question, young lady." He stepped over to his electronic microscope and bent over it, making an adjustment. "In her blood, I found traces of radioactive isotopes, Strontium 90." He pointed to the microscope image output on the computer screen next to him. "I believe that these microscopic capsules are designed to release just the right amount of radiation at specific times...to cure her disease."

"So you think these capsules saved her life." Olivia said, stepping up next to him at the microscope.

"You can...kinda think of it like time released chemotherapy." Peter said, stepping forward and feeling obliged to make some kind of contribution.

Olivia looked back at him, nodding slowly.

"Oh yes, yes." Walter said, nodding his head fervently. He pointed toward the screen again. "But, in Emily's case, the cure are also made her a perfect candidate for weaponization. Whatever was injected into her bloodstream caused these capsules to burst all at once, sending out a blast of radiation, and perhaps given her own head was the source of energy...kaboom!" He made an exaggerated exploding motion near his ears, squeezing his fingers into a fist and then flinging them outwards outstretched.

"Lovely Walter." Peter said, shaking his and moving next to Olivia.

"So...Emily's rheumatologist, Dr. Patel." she said, looking back and forth between them. "Would he have access to these sorts of isotopes? This...Strontium 90?"

"Eh...it's possible." Peter said, shaking his from side to side. "They only use them in a couple of therapies and they are really strictly regulated. But...there would be a paper-trail a mile long." He caught Olivia's eye and nodded once. "Why? You think her doctor had something to do with this?"

Olivia shrugged, raising her hands up. "I don't know." she said. "But eighty three percent of kidnap victims are abducted by someone they know." She spun around moving toward the exit. "I'm gonna go and talk to Emily Kramer's parents."

Peter saw an opening and took it. "I'll come with you." he said, following after her.

She looked back at him, narrowing her eyes on his face. He ignored her questing glance and moved up the steps toward the door.

"Oh Peter!" Walter called out, looking up from his microscope. "If you're going out, could you bring me back some cotton candy?"

He paused, looking back at his father, eyebrow raised. "Cotton candy? Seriously?"

"Yep…and blue! Not pink. I've had a craving." Walter said. "It must be the Hyacinths. Lovely blue flowers."

Peter shook his head as Walter turned back to his microscope. His father and his weird food requests! Fortunately for him, he had no idea where to get cotton candy. Moving to the exit, he opened the door and held it back out of the way for Olivia. She passed through without acknowledging his gesture, and he hurried after her as she stalked toward the stairwell up to the first floor of the Kresge Building.

"You know, you don't have to come." Olivia said, looking back at him as she pushed open one of the double doors leading outside. "I can do this on my own."

"I know you can." Peter said, striding past her and staring out over the grassy expanse of the quad. "I just thought you could use the company."

He could see her green suv parked in the distance, and he started toward it, leaving her behind. A few moments later, her footsteps hurriedly caught up with him, then matched his stride. He didn't look over at her, and he didn't feel her gaze on him, either, but he was aware that she had accepted his presence, for the time being at least.

Now he just needed to figure out what the hell was bothering her.

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**...And here's the next part of The Cure. I hope its up to par. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!**


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